


Magic Square I thru III

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-09-30
Updated: 2001-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-20 06:12:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11330148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Mulder is haunted by dreams. Alex Krycek is dead...Isn't he?





	Magic Square I thru III

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Magic Square 1: The Dream by Jami

TITLE: Magic Square - 1: The Dream  
SERIES: Yes, this is 1 of 3, the others are 2: Re-Inventing Alex Krycek, 3: The Artifact  
PAIRING: M/K  
AUTHOR: Jami Wilsen   
CO-AUTHOR: Jennie, with thanks for Alex's Voice.  
RATING: NC-17 language and slashy, graphic sex. Yay.  
DISCLAIMER: Nah. So sue me, CC, please - it'd be great for slash publicity.   
SUMMARY: Mulder is haunted by dreams. Alex Krycek is dead...Isn't he?  
NOTE: This is closurefic. I still cannot stomach deathfic. In fact, I can stomach it even less than before the Finale aired. Therefore this is not deathfic. [G!] I had to rescue them and make them happy all over again.  
SPOILERS: Hell, yeah - right up until that Season 8 Finale that sucked so badly. [g]. Also, for The Episode That Never Was and Biogenesis, Amor Fati.  
BETAS: Jennie

* * *

Magic Square

1: The Dream

The Hoover Building  
FBI Headquarters  
Washington, DC

Mulder was walking along the hallway, from the basement office where he had worked for so long. Agent Doggett hadn't been in and it seemed to Mulder as though he was still in the employ of the FBI, and that the years hadn't slipped away from him. It felt strange to find his old office empty. It had felt like a time warp wherein Scully might suddenly appear at the door and give him that inimitable quizzical expression and ask him what he was doing. 

His random train of thought next led to musings on the potential that was harbored in the infant body of little William Scully. The baby squalled with healthy lungs and appeared completely normal. After five months had passed, Mulder had grown very quickly bored with the tiny fellow, leaving Scully to coo over the infant cries - he was content to wait until the baby grew old enough to start displaying evidence of his amazing genetic heritage.

"Mulder!" Agent Reyes came up behind him, a little breathless and nearly running to catch up with his longer stride.

He stopped. She glanced apologetically at him before continuing, "I'm glad I caught you here. There's something I need to see you about."

He waited and then began to walk along the hall once more, although more slowly than before. "If this is about asking me to go over a case or explain some previous X-File to you, I'm not here. I only came by to pick up some things."

"No, I wouldn't," she hesitated. "Someone has given me something strange, something powerful. I'm not sure why it's come into my hands but I was hoping you could have a look at it and tell me what it is. I'm - I'm really not sure what to do with it."

Mulder suppressed a sigh. "Look, I'm not with the Bureau anymore and I-"

She stopped him with a cautious hand on his elbow. "I know. This is personal though. At least, I think it is. It didn't come to me through any official channel and it isn't anything that Agent Doggett or I have been working on. It's come to me out of the blue. Please, just have a look at it." She withdrew something that looked rather heavy from inside her jacket pocket. It was wrapped in tissue paper. Glancing around first, to be sure they weren't being observed, she handed it to him.

He took it and hefted it slightly in his palm. "What is this; a rock?" He began to unwrap the tissue paper, revealing what looked like a flat, hard rock indeed, inscribed with lettering. Mulder stood paralyzed with shock as he suddenly recognized it for what it was: the original artifact, one of the metallic fragments from the alien ship that Scully had gone to study on the Ivory Coast of Africa. 

He stood, numbly waiting for the relic to put the whammy on him, for the contents of Reyes' mind to begin to hit him with overwhelming chaos and images. He waited for the sensation of crowded pain to assail him again as it had before when he'd initially been introduced to this thing, an overload of mental thoughts from nearby people.

Monica Reyes stared at it, and then lifted her eyes to meet his. "I've studied it but I can't figure out what the inscription means or even what the symbols are."

Nothing. Not a hint of a mental whisper. Of course, it might take time. Mulder swallowed. And began to wrap it up in the tissue paper again. "I don't know what it is," he lied, smoothly. 

As he began to offer it back to her, she backed away slightly and shook her head. "No way. No way am I keeping that thing. It's hot. It carries such an intense energy that I really don't know what to do with it. I can't hold onto it anymore. I certainly can't keep it. Really, I was hoping that you'd at least have an idea of what it might be. Maybe, point me in the right direction?" She seemed truly unaware of what it was that she had just handed to him.

He frowned and thrust it back towards her. "I don't want anything to do with it. You'll have to find out from whoever gave it to you. Who sent it?" he added, curious as to the nature of the circuitous route it must have taken to land back in his life. He sighed inwardly. A goddamned boomerang.

Reyes smiled and continued to back away. "You don't understand. I can't keep it. I had the most intense vision. Someone appeared to me last night, while I was at home. I can't explain it - it was someone who's been gone from my life for a long time now. They said that I would know who to give it to. Mulder, I have the strongest feeling that it's you. For some reason, it is meant to be with you. It belongs with you. It-" she paused, and licked her lips, her eyes widening slightly, "it wants to be with you."

"Thanks," he said dryly. "Thanks a lot." He thrust it into his pocket and walked past her.

She paused and then called after him, "You know what it is, don't you?" It wasn't a question.

He turned his head slightly, to call over his shoulder, "It's out of your hands now, Reyes. You can sleep easy." This time he didn't bother to suppress his sigh of frustration and annoyance. 

Mulder walked out of the Hoover Building, handing in his visitor's pass on the way. By the time he reached his car, he stood beside it with the driver's side door open, and took out the wrapped relic. He considered throwing it into the street. Then wondered if he should hand it in as evidence. Keep it with the X-File that had been opened on the missing, well-documented Ivory Coast ship, where it belonged. 

During the surgical operation on his brain that Cancerman had instigated after he had first encountered the relic, they had removed the part that was affected by its strange power. Or so he had assumed. 

Well, he was certainly going to find out now. Maybe Reyes was right. Maybe he could find out why it had found its way back to him. After all, he was hardly working anymore. Maybe it would help him to find out what he was meant to be doing next. His attempts at assimilating the events that had led up to his death and subsequent revival, and the loss of the X-Files as well as his career in the FBI, had produced nothing but disjointed ramblings on his computer screen and strange entries on a notepad he'd set aside. Maybe the relic could help him to discover his reason for continuing on a quest that seemed pointless now. Maybe it could give him some power that he hadn't found yet. At the very least it might help him to see through Frohike's bluffs in poker. Maybe he'd make a killing at the races. Maybe he could befriend one of the horses. He sighed.

Out of curiosity and a perverse desire to see if it would still get to him somehow, he took the relic home with him and put it in the third drawer of his bedroom cabinet, with his socks.

Several days later, it still hadn't affected him in the slightest. So much for the whammy. After another week passed and it still showed no signs of interfering with his usual brain processes or his 'dormant' telepathic abilities, so he forgot about it. 

* * * *

A month and a half later  
#42, 2630 Hegel Place,  
Alexandria, Virginia

Mulder dreamed. Hazy, strange and somehow comforting elements of random distortion and vague impressions swirled in the privacy of his mind's eye as the dream shifted from one scene to the next. Without warning, the dream changed and crystallized, leaving Mulder standing with some alarm on a beach. The feeling of deja vu was overpowering. It was all too bright, all too vivid and familiar. His heart sank as he recognized the beach that the alien relic had taken him to before, all those years ago. He looked around him but there was nothing except for the surf and the seagulls. He knew it was a dream and the certainty of it was somehow comforting despite the nervous anticipation he felt while waiting for it to unfold.

Nothing. He idly walked barefoot along the sand, remembering the dream now almost as an old friend. It felt as though he'd slipped contentedly into a pair of shoes he had worn once and grown used to. The fact that the relic remembered him made it seem almost supportive and friendly It had recreated the same beach, whether out of his past memories, he wasn't sure, but still he didn't know what he might encounter here.

The dream elements he half-expected never revealed themselves, however, and the dream continued on, leaving him wondering why he was being shown this again. No little boy, no sandcastle ship, nothing. Just this vacant beach. 

Up ahead was a dark figure walking along the beach, coming towards him. He looked familiar but Mulder couldn't place who it was.

Mulder had the sense of impending revelation. For whatever reason, the relic had brought him here to meet this figure. There could be no other explanation - apart from the two of them, the beach was starkly empty. Almost as if the relic was making a statement. Mulder frowned and continued walking to meet the man coming towards him.

As they grew closer to each other, Mulder began to feel a horrible sense of recognition creep over him. He knew this man. Several more steps nearer and he knew without a doubt.

It was Alex Krycek. 

Damn it, Mulder swore furiously to himself. What the hell was Krycek doing in this dream? He had a distinct sense of foreboding that the relic would bring this about at all. What was the thing telling him?

Dressed in black, as was his customary fashion, Krycek was nearing Mulder with an expression that mirrored how Mulder himself felt. Chagrin, wariness - dismay, even.

Krycek slowed as he got close enough to call out to. He stopped, cautiously.

Mulder stopped as well, keeping the distance between them. He called out, unsure. "Alex?"

Krycek didn't respond, merely stood there and stared back at him with an unchanging expression, conveying a measure of apprehensive doubt and suspicion.

Mulder licked his lips. "You died... you're dead. Why are you here?"

Krycek closed his eyes for a long moment. Finally, he turned away to gaze out across the coastline and the sea. He seemed reluctantly committed to whatever strange enactment this dream recreation was moving towards.

Mulder took a few steps closer. "Why are you here? What do you want?"

With a brief, irritated shake of his head, Krycek replied, "Do you really believe that of all the places I could be, I'd choose here? With you?"

Mulder bit back his sudden flash of anger. Why was Krycek always so damned annoying? What was it about Krycek's manner, even in a dream figment, that got under his skin? Time to dismiss this disturbing element from this darkly reminiscent dream. Mulder stepped closer, raising his voice. "This is MY dream. You can leave anytime. My conscience is clear." He found himself suddenly wondering which of them he was trying to convince: the relic, Krycek... or himself.

A look of disdain crossed Krycek's features. "That's just like you, Mulder. Your dream, huh? So why don't you wave your hand and make me disappear?" But there was something behind his taunt, something that reminded Mulder of a plea. In fact, it had all the traces of someone trying to goad him into doing exactly what they wanted.

Mulder's eyes narrowed. The relic was obviously showing him his past subconscious reactions to Krycek. Perhaps it was some kind of test. Or maybe it was trying to tell him that he had never really had any kind of closure with this man., with the way he'd died.

Three shots fired, the last to the forehead. Mulder had felt almost nothing, suspecting he was in a numb kind of shock to see his enemy finally lying dark, still and lifeless on the concrete of the car park garage under the Hoover Building. Now, it was almost a relief to see Krycek again, to renew the old pattern of anger within him at the infuriating presence. Faith in the truth and in his innocence made him braver and Mulder stepped closer, leaving only a couple of feet between them. "It wasn't me. You deserved everything that happened to you. You brought it on yourself. None of it would have happened if you hadn't been in the wrong places at the right times. Every time. Right on up to that fateful last time."

Mulder was rewarded with the flare of pain that rippled over Krycek's face at these words, quickly smoothed away though it was. But the pain somehow remained in Krycek's eyes, even as he sneered, "Jesus, you never change, do you? Still harping on the same note after all these years." Krycek looked about them, at the empty beach.

Mulder noted that this Krycek had two arms. He wondered why his subconscious would provide the missing arm. Maybe it was his way of denying what had happened. Wearily, Mulder said, "What do you want, Alex?"

Krycek looked back at him with fathomless dark eyes that still held that spark of pain, a wounded stare that nearly made Mulder question the validity and surety of his previous statement. But this was nothing new. Krycek had always behaved this way. And Mulder was tired of rehashing the same scene over and over. Even his dreams were too predictable. 

Finally, Krycek muttered, "Even here, you're still the same obstinate, bitter fool; a Don Quixote chasing after windmills. Truth, justice and the American Way, eh, Mulder? What a bunch of shit." He turned and began to stalk away over the sand, leaving Mulder standing there, watching his figure recede into the distance.

* * * *

Mulder woke up with a gasp, his breath choked and stifled, catching in his lungs. He wasn't quite in a cold sweat but he didn't feel right, inside or out. 

After a few moments sitting up in bed, feeling the slosh of the water-filled mattress beneath him sway soothingly, he swung his feet purposefully over the side and sat there, his face in his hands.

The cold from the floor began to seep up through his feet but he was only half-aware of it as he tried to make sense of what the artifact was trying to show him. For it was undeniably the alien relic that had arranged that whole scenario.

The relic. Krycek. Fuck, oh FUCK.

He got up on stiff and shaky legs and turned on the light, then went to the cabinet. Pulling the drawer open, he resolutely fished through the socks until he found the artifact. Picking it up, he unwrapped it and held it in his hands. Smooth, cold and unrevealing, the metallic artifact sat inert in his grasp, the symbols almost mocking him with their Biblical reference in the impossible pictographs.

After a while, he wrapped it back up and replaced it in the cabinet, going to the kitchen for a drink of water and then returning to get into bed. It was a long while before he could get back to sleep.

The dream plagued him in the back of his mind when he awoke the next day. For most of the morning, he simply ignored it, mulling over it slightly from time to time. By the time he'd switched off his computer in frustrated disgust at his inability to concentrate, it was way past noon and he left the apartment to get lunch at the Bistro.

* * * * 

I wake up with that well-remembered ache in my gut that only Mulder can inspire. Damn! Even in my dreams, the bastard hasn't changed. Arrogant, self-obsessed fool. I hate him. 

I have spent one hell of a lot of effort in NOT remembering any dreams I might have - nefarious types such as myself can't afford to be distracted by that kind of nonsense. And, been largely successful at it. Oh, I wake with vague impressions of my nocturnal wanderings -easily ignored impressions. 

So, why is this dream so vivid? I can still smell the fucking surf, for god's sake. Hear that dryly-accusing tone of his. Feel that bad old attraction to him. 

I have a bad feeling about this. 

VERY bad.

* * * * *

By the fall of evening, Mulder had begun to sulk. It wasn't his fault that Krycek had been a traitor, a murderer and a liar. It wasn't his fault that Krycek had been working all ends against the middle, playing everyone off against each other to the very end, showing up at the last in the car with Knowle Rohre and finally driving Skinner to a very uncharacteristic display of executioner-style justice. It wasn't his fault that Krycek had been working for the Smoking Man. It wasn't his fault that Krycek had been a Russian KGB operative, nor was it his fault that Krycek had lost his arm.

But why stop there? His previous guilt cycle had gone over far deeper scars.

It wasn't his fault that his father had been a Consortium member, neck-deep in the shit that the Syndicate had floundered around in for twenty-five-plus years. It wasn't his fault that Samantha had been taken instead of him. It wasn't his fault that his mother had been involved with the Smoking Man. And it wasn't his fault, damn it, that Krycek had lost his arm! Well, okay, maybe that last wasn't quite true. The situation had been fraught with danger and tension and despite the fact that he hadn't known just how involved Krycek was at the time, he had admittedly snatched the man out of the prison camp where he was on such friendly terms with the gulag doctor. But Mulder had gotten Krycek in there; he was well within his rights to get him back out. It wasn't his fault Krycek had decided instead to roll off the back of a moving truck. It wasn't his fault that the truck's brakes hadn't worked. 

Mulder closed his eyes, cutting short the entire train of thought as the guilt finally reached him. It was his fault that Krycek had lost his arm. He certainly hadn't wished that on the rat-bastard.

But still, one left arm for one father, shot at close range just as his father had been about to reveal everything to him, seemed fairly fitting. Or so he'd always told himself. 

But in opening up the box and lifting the lid to peer into that whole mess, all the previous dealings with Krycek he'd ever had, was to invite recriminations, righteous anger and the past pain of betrayal. He'd hated the man, first hurting inside at Krycek's deception and treachery, then hating Krycek angrily and violently when their paths crossed, and finally towards the end, coldly and dismissively, nearly indifferent. He didn't really know what to think now. Why the hell had the relic given him that dream? 

And even more disturbing: what if it hadn't been the relic at all, but some unresolved issue in his own subconscious that he'd been suppressing all this time, even after Krycek's death? Something that the relic had merely helped him to surface?

Mulder got up blindly and went into the kitchen to retrieve a beer from the fridge.

Shit. He'd not let any thought of Krycek enter his head since that fateful last encounter under the Hoover Building. Maybe that was why the dream of last night was so distressing. He'd laid that particular dark knight to rest so thankfully. 

Still, there was nothing for it but to carry on and lay the ghost of Krycek to rest once more with the final thought that at least the man was at peace. Krycek could do him no more harm. Could torment Mulder no further with conundrums and empty tidbits, no more carrots dangled to get the Spooky Boy to run along the usual course. And at least he was out of his life for good. With that, Mulder swept it from his mind and refused to let it linger further. With the judicious application of late pizza and porn, he spent a satisfying solitary evening alone with his right hand, the familiarity of routine comforting to him despite the emptiness of the usual relief.

The shadow of doubt niggled in his mind however, as he lay in bed that night, trying to drift off to sleep. For the relic still sat in his sock drawer. It was a while before he fell asleep.

* * * *

Images entangling and eating themselves alive. Pizza and too MUCH late pizza consumed. Images that focused and then ran away, diffuse and sickening. Too much beer, too, to rest easily. Followed by regret. Naked flesh and writhing figures, reminders of empty pursuits of previous fantasies. His mind gibbered and tried not to think about it but fear remained, and doubt about the future boiled anew in his brain. He wanted to rest but there was always the background knowledge of what was sure to come, the ongoing invasion and helpless assimilation of a sheep population happy to run over the cliff-edge, herded by faceless aliens and monstrous Grays with swirling black eyes.

Abruptly, all fear and restless agitation vanished, replaced with a calm, tranquil sense of peace. The images faded and cleared like smoke chased out by a gentle breeze. And there, the scent of sea grasses and salt. The bright clarity of the beach and the slight warm wind ruffling his hair. Mulder blinked. And then turned around at a sound from behind him.

There stood Alex Krycek. Again. With a groan, Mulder let his head fall back and he sighed. The damned relic. Why? And why Krycek, of all the monsters and ghouls and peculiar shades in his past? Why this particular face? 

Krycek looked angry. "What the fuck?"

Mulder stared at him and then laughed, briefly. "You're kidding. Don't tell me I'm supposed to believe you're surprised to be here, Krycek. It won't float. You're not real, you're dead. Get over it." He turned away, dismissing the man from his mind and going to the water's edge to place a toe in it. It felt remarkably cold and real.

Behind him, Krycek was angrily walking away along the sand, in a repetition of the previous dream's ending.

Every so often, Mulder would look up at the figure receding in the distance, until Krycek was nearly out of sight altogether.

Then with a flash of shifting color, almost imperceptibly, Krycek disappeared - and was standing beside Mulder at the shoreline once more.

Krycek looked taken aback. A new expression entered his eyes: fear.

Mulder frowned. Obviously the relic wasn't going to let him get away with simply allowing Krycek to walk off. But Mulder didn't want to have the usual confrontation. He folded his arms across his chest. "Okay. I give. What is it? What do you want?"

"What do *I* want? I want to get out of this fucking nightmare, that's what I want." Krycek's answer was cold and to the point.

Brilliant. Mulder shook his head. This was like some kind of psychological puzzle he was supposed to solve. Find the answer and win internal peace of mind, or something. Fine. He tilted his head and regarded Krycek thoughtfully. "I'm not keeping you here. I don't want you here, anymore than you want to stay. But maybe that's the problem. Maybe I'm trying too hard to ignore the fact that maybe the reason you're here is because I don't want you here."

Growing more agitated by the minute, Krycek angrily answered, "Don't tell me I'm stuck in your goddamned subconscious?" He looked disgusted...and still afraid. Finally, he said, "You know, I'm not the one who's dead, Mulder. You are. You have been for some time, I think. From the inside out."

Mulder shrugged. "At this point, I really couldn't care less what you think. In fact, I find I don't care much what you do or say now, actually. You can stay, or you can go. Until I get some kind of tangible explanation of just what it is that's expected of me here."

He stepped back into the water that was still cold and all-too-real. A wave splashed up, drenching him to the thighs. Wow. It was very real. He stepped back out of the way of the waves.

Krycek looked hunted. Haltingly, he said, "Mulder, for whatever reason, I'm stuck here in this dream. I think it IS yours. But believe me, I don't want to be here."

Mulder looked up at him. "So? What do you expect me to do about it, Krycek? I don't want you here either."

Exasperatedly, Krycek bit out, "Why don't you let me go? Why don't you, I don't know, work out why the hell it is you've got me stuck here and just... let me leave?"

Patiently, Mulder repeated, "I don't have any control over it. It isn't me. It isn't up to me."

Krycek stopped. Slowly, he suggested, "Maybe it's both of us. Together."

* * * *

Mulder woke up with a start as the alarm clock went off. The shock of the reality of being in his bed in the morning was almost frightening as realizing that this time, the dream had taken over again and not even let Krycek leave, forcing them to talk, to interact.

Mulder began to grow afraid. After breakfast, he FedExed the artifact to his father's house in Martha's Vineyard. He was planning to go up there in another couple of weeks. That should give him enough time to determine whether or not the proximity of the artifact had any effect on the dreams. He phoned the post office there to alert them to the arrival of the package, then spent the rest of the day trying to pretend nothing was amiss. 

Needless to say, he had a great deal of difficulty getting to sleep that night. But he slept relatively peacefully in his usual dream state of more vague and distant mental images and ramblings, with no vivid return to the beach and not even a hint of Krycek. He found, the following morning, that he'd slept the whole night through and was nearly overwhelmed with relief. It seemed that his idea of sending the artifact away had worked.

That afternoon he called Reyes at the Bureau. She was doing paperwork and seemed happy to take his call. 

"Mulder, thank god." She stifled a yawn; he could hear it over the phone.

With a grin, he said, "Thank YOU, Agent Reyes, for reminding me of all the reasons why I am grateful - to no longer be working for the FBI."

She chuckled. "Oh, it's not so bad. It's just that I had a late night last night, working on a case. Hey, I wanted you to know; I checked the ballistics on that weapon like you suggested. You were right."

"Told you so. Listen, Reyes, I wanted to ask you something. It's the reason I called. Uh, remember that...that metallic rock you gave me, the fragment of tablet with the symbols on it?"

There was a brief pause. "Yeah, the one with the heavy energy. Actually, it wasn't heavy, just very strong. Intense. What about it? Have you figured out what it is?"

"I think so. Maybe. But listen, I need to know who sent it to you. "

"I don't actually know," admitted Reyes. "It came here to the Bureau with my name on it, anonymously. I tried to have it analyzed but the first guy I took it to told me it was a fake, a hoax. Some young archaeologist attempting to pull a fast one for either a prank or for notoriety. I held onto it, hoping that something would come up. But then I had that - that vision. And, well, you seemed to be the only person I could think of who could find out. Given your background, I mean." Reyes stopped, obviously wondering if she'd been talking too much. "Mulder?"

"Yeah. Thanks. Okay, look, let me know if you get sent anything else, all right?"

"Sure." Reyes sounded thoughtful. "The package was sent from New York City, if that's any help."

Mulder frowned. "I'm not sure. But thanks for telling me. I'll let you know if I come up with anything."

"All right. Let me know if I can help, Mulder. Ah. There's Doggett - I'll have to let you go. Talk to you soon, okay?" She disconnected the call and Mulder put the phone down, slowly.

The artifact and all the research - indeed, all the people -connected with the Ivory Coast ship here in the US had disappeared while he was out of it, back when the artifact had first exerted its influence on him. It had activated that hypothalamic telepathy episode that had been so devastating he'd ended up in a guarded ward. He didn't think that this was as bad, but he began to wonder if having repeated nightly run-ins with his subconscious' idea of Krycek was conducive to his overall mental health. Maybe it would help to take out a dream-gun and just shoot the bastard. Somehow, he couldn't see the relic taking too kindly to that.

* * * *

The same old beach, the same sickening sense of realistic sand between his bare toes. He groaned as he saw Krycek sitting on a rock nearby, a pensive look on his face.

"Not again."

Krycek didn't reply, merely looked away, back out to sea.

Furiously, Mulder walked right up to him and grabbed him by the front of his black jacket. 

"Well, I must say, this is familiar ground." Krycek's smirk was back now.

Mulder let go of him abruptly. Beating up a dream-Krycek was nearly as bad as taking out a gun and shooting him. Swallowing a violent urge to do both, Mulder said, "I don't know why you're here, or what I'm supposed to do about it, but I've had it. I'm through. Come on; just tell me what it is I'm meant to do about this! I don't want you here, and it's getting really old, really fast!"

Krycek shoved at him, sending him stumbling back to regain his balance. "I don't want to be here! I've told you that! You think I want to be trapped in your head? Damn it, Mulder, just - just -" he paused, his breaths coming fast, angry and yet somehow panicked. He closed his eyes. "Let me go. Please, let me go."

"I'm not keeping you here!" Mulder insisted, indignantly.

"It's YOUR dream!" exclaimed Krycek.

Mulder threw his hands in the air. "No it isn't! It's not. So change it. I can't. Go on. Help yourself. What would you like to see here, instead?"

Krycek was silent, although his face was still dark.

"I can't change it. I don't have any control over it. And it's too fucking real. YOU'RE too fucking real. Oh, the hell with this," added Mulder, in a lower voice, almost sulkily. He turned on his heel and began walking away along the beach.

* * * *

Mulder woke up when the alarm clock shrilly rescued him from the possibility of being transported right back to the same location to face Krycek again.

This was getting downright scary. He'd entered the freak zone where he was now officially spooked, himself. He gulped coffee and breakfast almost absently, spending the morning pacing up and down the living room floor until he feared that he might wear a path in it. Slumping down in the couch he forced himself to concentrate. Nothing sprang wildly to mind.

Focus, focus! He leaned forward, his head in his hands. That dream had been too disturbing on far too many levels. For one thing, the dream-Krycek seemed fairly oblivious to the relic or the meaning of the beach scene. For another, Krycek was also unaware as to why he would be there, with Mulder. 

And it was the same damn dream repeated over and over, like a nightmare that he was having to face until he got some twisted variation right in his head and somehow managed to act from the right one to change the sequence.

What were his options? He couldn't see many, to be honest. He sighed and leaned back, resting his head against the couch and staring blankly up at the ceiling. No help there. And the damned rock sat waiting for him, waiting for him to open the box at the post office in Martha's Vineyard. He'd called the day before to make sure they'd hold it for him - maybe he should phone and ensure that it had arrived... 

The dream still kept coming, even through the absence of the pesky relic.

Okay. Concentrate. He couldn't afford to let himself get rattled by this. It was merely trying to show him that there was something he hadn't faced, something he was still refusing to look at regarding his old nemesis.

Actually, come to think of it, he knew next to nothing about Krycek.

In fact, the more Mulder thought about it, the more he realized he didn't know anything about Krycek at all. Maybe that was the key. Maybe the way towards getting some kind of authentic closure or resolution for the dream was through facing the problem head on, not waiting for the relic to do something about it. It was obvious that it was merely creating the scenario for Mulder to face, and to have to deal with the elements of the dream, not actively participating except to provide him with the beach as a stable environment in that subconscious world. To enable him to deal with it without having to mess around with all the other problems that lurked in his subconscious. 

How thoughtful of it, he thought wryly.

Mulder picked up the phone.

* * * *

This is getting worse. 

Dammit, I put SO much fucking effort into making him believe in my death! I've stayed out of his way... stayed out of everyone's way. Being dead has its advantages. But to have worked so hard to remain out of sight...

And now... well, shit, the bastard will figure this out, given enough time -I'd seen the warning signs clearly, as his curiosity engaged. Knew enough to quail at the thought - hell, he's a regular bulldog once he's latched onto something. And those incredible leaps of logic he makes... 

Okay, Alex, breathe deeply. Don't let him get to you. Your trail is well hidden - he'll never find you. 

Yeah, right. 

What do *I* want? I don't want a single thing from him - except peace, forgetfulness. 

Is that REALLY too much to expect? 

Bastard.

Hell with it - it's NOT real - just my subconscious mind trying to work out the remaining feelings I have for him. Yep - that's it. 

I'll just go with the flow for now. The dreams will stop. 

I hope. 

* * * *

The Lone Gunmen HQ  
Later that afternoon

Mulder regarded the sandwich that lay on Langley's plate with grave doubt. "No, thanks," he said, distractedly. "So, what have you guys come up with?"

"That's just it," Frohike said. "We've got nothing. Zero. Zip. It's like the guy never existed."

"He must have erased all traces of himself, before he died," Langley added. "It's kind of weird. Almost like he expected to be gone."

Mulder sighed and ran a hand through his hair, frustrated.

"You want us to keep looking?" Langley asked. "We can. I mean, we might come up with something that he overlooked. Or there might be some reference or trace embedded in something else."

Mulder held the bridge of his nose for a moment. "Yeah. Might as well. It's worth a shot."

"Like, what do you need it for? Some kind of reconstruction or something?" Langley probed.

Mulder snickered. "More like post-event therapy. No, I'm actually trying to solve a puzzle. And I have absolutely nowhere to start from. So, I'm going back to the beginning."

Frohike lifted his eyebrows and said, "Well, we can give it a go. But he was high-level enough to place himself out of reach and pretty savvy with the tech stuff himself. Not to mention his connections... I wouldn't place our chances very highly."

With a frown, Mulder said, "Wait a minute. Maybe we're going about this all the wrong way. He wouldn't have used his own name. Or maybe someone else has something stored away somewhere under a different identity." He straightened and continued thoughtfully, "After the DAT tape fiasco, he disappeared in North Dakota. He resurfaced in New York City on a bust; he'd set it up and had been leading me into it, sending me the receipts to get the Bureau involved. The militia group he was with at the time said that he'd gone by the name of Arntzen." 

"Arntzen," Byers repeated. "I've come across that before, but not in connection with anything the Syndicate was involved in." He looked over at Langley, who was already furiously typing away at the keyboard the moment the name had left Mulder's lips.

After a while, Langley shrugged. "Well, man, all I can say at this end is that we'll run it through and see what we come up with. You might as well go home. I'll send you what we find."

"Okay. Thanks, you guys." Mulder wearily dragged his coat on. 

"You going to be okay, Mulder?" Byers asked.

"I'll have to be. The only alternative is a padded cell, at this point." But he grinned, tiredly. "I'll be fine. I'm just not getting enough sleep, is all."

That night, he fell asleep exhausted, hoping rather futilely not to have to endure another confrontation with the rat-bastard.

* * * *

Long hours passed. He slept. Many hours of intermittent tossing and turning and sleep-soaked apathy later, Mulder found himself on the beach again. He couldn't even bring himself to get upset.

This time, however, Krycek was beside himself. It seemed that the aggravation of attempting to locate any information on the deceased Consortium player had translated itself into his subconscious mind as an aggravated dream element who now marched right up to him as he found himself on the beach. 

Krycek grabbed him and said, right in his face, "Why won't you let me go?! Mulder, please. Come on, you've got to do something. I can't stand it anymore." Krycek was angry, but he was also pleading. His eyes looked wild and he seemed on the verge of becoming unhinged.

Mulder stepped back, concerned. "I'm doing everything I can. I'm trying my damnedest to exorcise you but I can't. Not yet. Give me some time. I'm caught in the dream-logic of this scenario and I can't find a way out yet. But I'm working on it."

Krycek glared at him accusingly.

"I'm trying," Mulder said, helplessly. "I am."

But Krycek sank to his knees in the sand before Mulder and said hoarsely, "I can't take it anymore." 

"Look, why don't you show me where else you would rather be?" Mulder suggested. "Maybe if we work together, we can find a way to stop this."

Krycek turned away from him, staring down at the sand. The beach melted away and they were in Mulder's apartment, in his living room.

Mulder frowned. "Why are we here now?"

Krycek opened his mouth as if to speak but gave up, getting up and turning away once more to slowly walk over to the fish tank. He stared morosely down into it, seemingly entranced by the fish swimming there.

Mulder went and sank down on the couch, feeling disoriented at having to spend this dream in his own familiar surroundings. It was beginning to take on the nightmarish dimensions of an out-of-body-experience. Which did not bode well for the previous dreams - or Krycek's continued presence in them.

After a while, Krycek said in a low voice, "I died for you. It wasn't enough, was it?"

He murmured a reply. "I guess not. I thought it was."

Mulder closed his eyes. When he finally opened them, everything was still as it was. No getting out of it that way. Even pinching himself didn't work. But he knew it was still a dream. Bizarre. 

Krycek came to stand in front of him, looking down at him with a look that combined both regret and contempt. "You're just going to sit there?"

"Look, you brought us here. I didn't."

"No, I didn't," countered Krycek.

"Well, it wasn't me, and if it wasn't you, it must be that damned rock." Mulder sat up and looked around them. "You know, between the two of us, I keep thinking that the pilots of that ship are going to arrive sometime. Maybe give me an explanation. They can give it in Navajo, ancient Greek or Babylonian, far all I care."

Krycek slowly shook his head. "You've flipped, haven't you? You've finally lost it." His face hardened. "No wonder I'm stuck in here with you."

Mulder flopped back and chuckled at him. Looking up, he said, "Alex, why'd you kiss me? You can tell me. Was it another one of your head-trips or was there some sort of emotionally significant meaning in it for you? Wait," he interrupted himself, and held up a hand, "don't answer that. I just realized that I really don't want to go there, right here, right now."

Krycek snorted derisively. "Yeah, right. Imagine what that could mean."

Mulder stared up at him, quizzically. "What?"

Krycek sighed, expressively. "You're suppressed. Repressed. Whatever."

Mildly, Mulder asked, "Alex, what the hell are you talking about?"

"That you might actually work out that you've been subconsciously wondering why it had so much emotional significance for *you*."

Mulder was torn between wanting to giggle at the inanity of letting this conversation go down this particular route and the righteous indignation that demanded he defend himself. He was arguing with an alien rock. Of course, considering that the dream-Krycek was merely a figment of his own subconscious projection of what the man was like...or rather, what he believed Krycek had been like... It left him at an internal impasse that he couldn't really go into with any measure of dignity. Getting kissed by Krycek was as unwanted as getting up and kissing him. And both options were as unwanted as taking out a gun and shooting him or just relieving his frustrations and anger on the rat-bastard in his own time-honored tradition.

But therein lay the problem. Was he fighting his own subconscious repressed longing to do all of these things? Could he find a way out of the dream cycle by actually giving in to the desire to act them out? What did that say about his psychological state? Damnation. 

Oh, the hell with it. It was only a dream, after all. Regardless of how real it seemed. 

He grinned up at Krycek. "Sure. But I also know just how significant it was for you. So why don't you give me another. Here, on the cheek. After that, you can kiss me on the mouth, like you should have done the first time: properly. And then, you can kiss my ass. Then you can kiss your own ass... goodbye."

Krycek stared down at him, seemingly taken aback by the candid and offhandedly careless way that Mulder had spoken to him. He didn't seem to know how to react. Krycek looked like he was about to speak when, with a suppressed growl, he turned on his heel and left the room, going out to the front door and slamming it behind him.

Mulder laughed. He'd be back. He always was.

* * * *

The bright glare of morning came in through the window as Mulder opened his bleary eyes. 

Shit. This was getting out of hand. Completely off-course. He wasn't getting a full night's rest and he suspected that the dreams were interfering with his REM sleep. Not to mention the disturbing revelation of his own suppressed violence/attraction cycle where Krycek had been concerned. He realized now, that he'd always known it was there. But of course, when one is dealing with a criminal, particularly one as dangerous - and as the Lone Gunmen had pointed out the day before, high-level and professional as Krycek had been -one didn't try to indulge in exploring it with them. 

The sheer amount of tension and doubt that assailed him at even thinking in that dream that it would be a good idea to act out his darker urges... Fight Krycek, or fuck him? Both seemed to be tied together. In projecting all the darkness onto his enemy of past years, he'd also inadvertently projected his *own* darkness onto him too, until both were so intertwined it was no wonder the relic had picked up on it and was somehow making him face the fact that his subconscious was utterly fucked. Screwed. He was screwed.

He moaned and pulled the pillow over his head.

The telephone rang, and he ignored it, letting the answering machine in the next room switch on to pick it up.

After a while he roused himself to go see who it was that could be calling at this ungodly hour. It was only after seven in the morning. Being unemployed had its advantages. Too bad he really couldn't benefit from it at the moment.

But the caller was Langley. "Mulder, yo, dude, we hit the jackpot. Check your email." Bleep.

Hm. This could be interesting. Had the Gunmen been working on that search all night? Had they stayed awake all that time? Or had they slept... He envied them if they had.

After a morning run, during which he deliberated on all the reasons why he should be looking forward to seeing what the Gunmen had found, and trying to ignore the misgiving he felt at touching anything more to do with Alex dead-rat-bastard Krycek, he took a shower.

And found himself inexplicably crying. 

It was taking its toll, he realized. Having to see Alex in vivid color and near-living presence every night. He'd never asked to be betrayed, nor had he ever asked to be kissed by a Judas fucking Syndicate blackmailer who had a mouth that spouted lies and eyes that never hid the hurt and... And was dead. Alex Krycek was dead. 

His tears were hot and easily lost in the hot water than ran over him.

It was a long while before he turned off the water. He got out of the shower, dried himself off, then dressed absently, pulling on jeans and a t-shirt. 

Something had suddenly become very clear. Mulder went into the kitchen and made himself a cup of coffee.

What if.

What if the dream-Krycek he kept seeing wasn't a figment of his subconscious at all, but the real Krycek? The dead Krycek? His ghost? Spirit, shadow, disembodied mind?

It made so much more sense, given the feel and the realism of the recurring dream.

Which meant...

Oh no.

Oh shit.

Last night, he'd fucked up royally.

And it meant that he was being haunted. Haunted, for god's sake. He needed an exorcist now, no joke. No thanks to the artifact.

And no thanks to Reyes, either. Thanks, he said silently to himself, thanks a lot, Agent Reyes. Remind me to send you a whale recording. 

He sighed and wondered why he always managed to turn everything into a perfectly executed guilt-trip. And then wondered why he was feeling remorse at having hurt the feelings of someone who'd been dead for months.

Another twinge of guilt. It had been Krycek who'd administered the vaccine to him in the Naval Hospital, just in time to avert Mulder's insides being consumed by the alien virus and replaced with some alien guest to wear his face. 

Alex had saved his life.

It had all been in what Alex had said to Skinner. A vaccine developed by his father, and that Mulder had known about it? What a crock. And of course Skinner had fallen for it hook, line and sinker.

Alex had helped them save Scully's life... and her baby, regardless of whatever threatening deals he'd offered Skinner prior to saving Mulder with the vaccine.

Mulder wondered too, if maybe Alex had thought at the end, before Skinner came charging out to put several bullets into him, if Mulder himself had not actually been changed after all, due to the vaccine being administered too late to reverse the process. That might account for why Alex had been holding a gun on him in the first place.

Mulder experienced a horrible lurch in his stomach as he realized he was actually grieving. Over Krycek, for god's sake.

And found himself promising that he'd make it up to Alex if he dreamed again that night. Fuck. Haunted by Krycek. It could only happen to him - what a joke. Only it wasn't funny and hurt like hell and now...could it be?.. Was he actually looking FORWARD to seeing Krycek again? Maybe a little desperately, to try to explain? To get some answers at last? He wondered if whatever process the relic had started was irreversible. 

He turned on his computer and downloaded his mail with absolutely no desire to do so whatsoever.

Fuck. Langley hadn't been kidding. Jackpot.

 

* * *

 

Magic Square

2: Re-Inventing Alex Krycek

* * * *

The pain of you.

I lay awake at night weighing which is worse: dreaming of you or laying awake thinking of you. I can't tell the difference anymore. Ever since the last time I saw you (flash of a cold indifferent face, and the sensation of a bullet ripping into me), I've realized that there really was no chance, no hope. I don't have a hope in hell. I never did and I never will. So why do I torture myself with thoughts of you? 

You're like a scab I can't stop picking at. The wound is still too fresh, the cut too deep and taking far too long to heal. And it's bone-deep, as sharp as the blade that severed my arm from my body, as piercing as the knowledge that once a life is taken, there can be no going back.

It isn't remorse or regret. I don't have time for either, and absolutely no patience for self-pity. But I have nothing left to fill the space with and the hole in my heart is a lot fucking bigger than the hole in my forehead was.

I tell myself it wasn't love. Love is for dreamers, for fools. As I am neither, love is most certainly not for me. And it is definitely not what I feel for him. 

Felt. Once. Past tense . No longer, though.

Yeah, and if I keep telling myself that, maybe I'll believe it someday. I should just take out my gun and fucking get it over with. I'm a dreamer and a fool and it will get me killed again, eventually. I should go up to him, hand him my gun and say, here -do it properly. Do it again. Get it out of your system. God knows how many times they'll bring me back - might as well take advantage of it. Go on, kill me and gain that precious closure you think you crave so badly. I know you so well; you would be afraid at how well I know you. You can't do it yourself. I'd have to put the gun to my head and pull the trigger myself. Your guilt wouldn't let you.

I ought to just go and see you. Give you the shock of your life. Hi there, remember me? Yeah, I'm still here. Thought you'd gotten rid of me, didn't you? No, I'm not a ghost. Sorry to disappoint you.

God, why does it hurt so much? Why does it still hurt so badly? It's like an aching tooth that I've never bothered to have removed. Like a phantom limb. Or like three bullet holes in my body that I thought would take the pain away for good. A huge, black rose of pain, so much greater than anything I had ever feared, that finally sucked out my soul.

Then, white pain, a blaze of consciousness, searing light and GOD PLEASE NO -

Fucking ALIENS... bring me back from the dead for their own convenience. Then leave me here to live out the rest of my days in solitary confinement like a wounded animal. How the fuck am I supposed to live a normal life? People like me shouldn't live past a certain point, I think. My luck should have run out by now. I'm so fucking good at surviving anything that the world throws at me - and not just the world but the galaxy now, too. Damned aliens, meddling in human affairs just because they can. All the world's a chessboard and we are all pawns, moved around by their dictates and agendas.

I don't dare scan myself for implants - no doubt they have me tagged like the animal they treated me as, and I'm afraid to examine why, to even consider the implications if I DO have one.

I awake this morning, breathing hard, wondering if I'm still dead and perhaps in hell, torn between a daily shadow existence of an enforced retirement and having to burn under the hatred in Mulder's dismissive eyes every night.

I tried to simply forgo sleep for a night and that had worked, until the next time I fell asleep. I tried it again and found that it just screwed up my sleeping pattern.

But this last dream is the final straw. 

Bastard.

Talk about a nightmare. Forget physical trauma and night terrors: this latest trial is leaching every remaining emotional substance from my body. It doesn't seem fair, to have to endure Mulder's rage and snide, casually inflicted wounds on top of everything else, all the way up to the end. To this moment. Mulder, a psychic vampire, now? For fuck's sake.

Actually, I'm fairly certain that it really is Mulder - or at least part of Mulder, his subconscious perhaps. The way that Mulder consistently takes every opportunity to lash out at me in the dreams, particularly this last one, has me convinced that it can be none other than the bane of my life. Okay, maybe bane is the wrong description. Achilles heel? No, bane, definitely. And source of pain, pain, pain. So what else is new?

Bastard.

I stumble finally into the bathroom and splash cold water on my face to wash away the sweat, the dried tear-tracks and the remnants of sleep. In the mirror, I see a haggard face, red-eyed from poor sleep and fitful nights, haunted by the one man I can't escape. What a pathetic way to end it; caught and unable to hide, even in the privacy of my own mind... 

I look down at the sink, away from my reflection.

There has to be some way to find out why this is happening. Mulder doesn't seem any happier about it than I am myself. So far, he appears to be in denial, which is a very good thing. Mulder believes I'm a figment of Mulder-dreams. How very Mulder-centric. So what else is new? I dry my face with the towel. And think how interesting it is that Mulder is trying to 'exorcise' me, like a ghost. Mulder believes I'm dead. Thank god for small mercies.

Whatever shreds of a conscience I might still possess is safely locked behind a very durable shell that has been years in the making. Yet, somehow, there is a soft little center somewhere inside. Probably in the region of my heel.

Again, I consider just showing up at Mulder's door. Folly. Suicide. Very stupid. I've stayed away, stayed underground for so long. I've been so good, leaving my Fox alone. I can't afford to let myself be drawn out now.

Dreams. I've been so lucky not to remember my dreams so far. The memories are bad enough without having to relive them at night. Actually, come to think of it, I'd prefer the Mulder dreams to having nightmares of either my death or my resurrection. Or the silo. Or the peasants with the hot knife. I find myself wincing at the memory in spite of myself. Or my parents' deaths. Or the memories of being possessed by the oilien. The sting of betrayals that remind me how much I must have hurt Mulder. The loss of people I tried not to care about. Killing people whose hearts had been even colder than my own, their own morality so lost as to be unrecoverable. Thankless tasks. Attempting to save an ignorant, selfish heaving mass of ungrateful people just so they could continue to believe in their thirty-year mortgages and the happy college education of their bright toddler and the uninterrupted flow of their favorite television shows and beer and takeout and American superiority. Fuck. Add it all up and I have to wonder what I'm hanging around *for*.

What kind of existence is it, when one has lived on the cusp of success, and the questionable glory of fighting for humanity's freedom against vast odds, to dwell in a vacuum of anonymity and false personas after having been granted another chance at life?

And at what cost! I remember dying.

I'd fallen to the concrete in the car park, still reeling with the realization that it had to be an alien replacement, not Mulder, else why would the man be standing there watching me fall so dispassionately, so coldly? As if he felt nothing at all? Even while watching me die? Surely he would have shown a flicker of triumph at least?

Bastard. Had to be a replacement. Had to be. Mulder had always burned brightly, whether with pain, violence, hatred or ambitiously seeking his dogmatic truths. Surely Mulder couldn't watch me die without blinking an eye?

The darkness had clutched at me suddenly, blackness spreading all too quickly on the heels of the pain and shock and red miasma that was my world. That gigantic black rose, unfolding like an octopus with long tentacles, death had opened gripping jaws and pulled me down. There was a brief moment of terror mingled with relief.

I awoke in a white, round room surrounded by little horrors. Indifferent, curious gray bodies with large heads and implacable eyes. And the tall ones, leaning over me to keep my consciousness pinned and unable to slide away. Unable to even scream.

When I angrily and with much sorrow demanded that they tell me why they'd brought me back, they had merely stared down at me and wordlessly talked of debts and needs. I was needed. It was inconvenient for me to no longer be alive. That was all. That was the only reason for me being brought back; I represented a 'convenience' on the board, as a piece in the game being played between various alien factions. I'd fought and struggled, suffered and resisted and all for this?

And then the final blow: my left arm. They'd regenerated my left arm. Not even out of any sense of mercy or compassion but merely as an afterthought, absently fixing something broken. I'd heard rumors that they sometimes healed cancer and illnesses and even blindness in those they abducted when they came across these states in their human guests. The Russian woman who's misshapen leg they'd grafted the replacement onto - not fixing it... Completely regenerating a new one from her DNA. Same thing they did for me. I never imagined that they would replace my missing limb. I was more grateful for the arm than for my life.

They treated me like a sulky child and ignored me and finally left me on the streets of Denver, not far from the new airport where they apparently had some kind of rendezvous to attend. At least they'd left my clothes and what I'd been carrying when I died, including my wallet and various IDs. Which meant that for the nine days I was aboard the ship, no one could have had a clue as to where my body had disappeared to and I had left nothing of mine in the possession of the FBI. 

Holing up in Portland, Oregon, for a few weeks had seemed almost a cliche after the whole Bellefleur incident and Mulder's abduction there. But now, here in Arizona, I'm wondering if there really is anywhere left on the planet's surface that isn't an alien free-for-all. Arizona is riddled with UFO hotspots and buzz sites. In Phoenix, I finally settled for a while, renting an apartment and laying low as the weeks turned to months. 

I had almost grown complacent when the first Mulder dream occurred, crashing into my world, threatening my desperate attempt to regain some clarity and personal space, a little sanity carved out in the wilderness after a life-time of living in other people's manipulative webs. 

But I'm getting desperate now. The dreams are taking me apart, loosening my tenuous hold on reality and forcing me into these heart-wrenching, jarring confrontations with Mulder when all I want to do is lick my wounds and try to heal. Every time I finally fall asleep, it is with the knowledge that eventually I'll have to face Mulder again. And a secret excitement sits within me, I can't hide from it -the hope that maybe, this time, tonight, finally, Mulder will... What? He'll what? Forgive me? Tell me 'all's well, come on back Alex and we'll live together in peace and love'?

I close my eyes against the anguish that wells up at this hopeless and ridiculous thought. And try to prepare myself to spend yet another day like a trapped animal attempting to chew off an astral leg - or arm - in an attempt to escape.

Bastard.

In a way, I'm the perpetual moth to Mulder's flame, because I know I can no more stop wanting Mulder, no matter how absurdly suicidal it is, than a moth can help hurling itself at a naked candle burning in the dark.

Well, maybe at some point in the not too distant future I can go ahead and burn, lit up at last by the heat of Mulder's righteous anger and pain that he always and inevitably directs at me. My desire for Mulder is still the one illogical, irrational element in my being, the one thing that precludes any possibility of survival. My one weakness. My one despair. My one hope.

And still, I retain a sense of self-respect, of dignity and pride. I'll be damned if I'll fall at Mulder's feet - not after all my unrecognized past attempts to recompense for the damage I've caused him. Feeling better in the daylight, I can recoup my sense of integrity and purpose and pick up all the pieces of my psyche that lay shattered on the ground after last night's encounter... And begin the painstaking process of gluing myself back together yet again. Damn it, I'd gone to my knees again in the dream. Shit. And still Mulder had doled out the pain. The verbal punches. The cruel slaps. The barbs and nasty remarks that weren't so much clever as intentionally hurtful.

Bastard. *Bastard!* 

I let the anger fill me, feeling it washing over me and rejuvenating my spirits. I'm not going to lie down and take what Mulder dished out so easily. If a psychic war was what Mulder wanted, so be it. At least I'll go down fighting. 

Truth. I'll give Mulder his fill of it.

The bastard.

* * * * 

"Scully." There was an embarrassed pause as she realized she'd answered with her surname out of habit. "Hello?"

Mulder chuckled. "Dana? I thought you wanted to be called Dana."

"It's a habit, Mulder," she replied, coolly. "One I'm trying to lose. What can I do for you?" 

Mulder could hear William squalling in the background. "Have I called at a bad time?"

The cries abruptly stopped. "No, actually you haven't. I was just feeding him."

Mulder stopped, attempting to process the sudden knowledge that Dana Scully was breastfeeding at that exact moment...

"Mulder? Stop it."

"Uh, I-"

"What do you want, Mulder?" Scully's voice took on that familiar slightly pained note of long-sufferance.

"Are you still breastfeeding him? It's been months, now."

Dryly, she said, "Mulder, there are numbers you can call for this."

There was a heavy sigh. "I just - I really need to talk to someone."

There was an equally heavy silence. "That bad, huh? Is it the writing? Are you still suffering from writer's block?"

"It's not so much writer's block as PTSD, but yeah. But that isn't why I called."

"Well. That sounds serious. Okay. Hold on, let me switch him around."

Mulder's brain went on hold along with her, at the realization that she was shifting the baby to the other nipple. He cleared his throat, a sudden blush stealing over his face. There was something different and erotic about that. Very different to the cheesy, all-too-easy vids he had access to. And surely William was getting too old for that, in any case?!

"Right. What is it, Mulder?"

"I need to talk. With someone who will understand."

Scully was quiet. "What is it? Has something happened?"

"No. Well, not exactly. It - I got - See, the Lone Gunmen found some files for me. Dug them up from some weird-ass Department of Defense archive."

"When? When did you get them?"

"This morning."

"So, you've been sitting around reading them for the last seven hours?"

"Basically. And digesting."

"Are you going to tell me what they're about, or are you going to make me guess?" Her tone was cautious. "Are they about your father?"

"No, not really. Alex Krycek." Somehow, saying the name aloud, over the phone to his ex-partner and best friend didn't help. If anything, he felt he was almost invoking Krycek's ghost. Hm. Gonna have to be careful on that score, he reminded himself. This was Scully - not Doggett or Reyes.

"Really? What do they say? I mean, what kind of information is it? Mulder? Hello?"

"I'm here, Dana. It's his whole life. They're his father's files originally, actually." He took a deep breath. "I don't know. I'm still thinking about it, but I think I never really knew him. I never profiled him, and I never knew what forces were driving him."

"Mulder, there are no excuses for what he did to you, to my sister... To Skinner. Not to mention others we won't bother to list as it would take too long."

"Of course not. I'm not saying there are. But I've found so many parallels between his life and my own, that it's kind of... creepy."

"Creepy?"

"Weird. Spooky."

"Spooky," she repeated. "Like, frightening? What, like strange coincidences? Is this anything to do with the Smoker, Mulder?"

"Not until later on in the files. But the point is that I now realize I shared so many similar events with him, without even knowing it. I just wonder how close I was, and how many times, to going down exactly the same road he did. You know?"

"That's impossible, Mulder," Scully declared. "It's outrageous. How can you possibly compare yourself to that- that immoral killer-"

"I'm not comparing myself to him, or the things he did. I'm saying that our lives had frightening coincidental parallels. Similarities."

"I feel like I'm missing a really big piece of the story here, Mulder. Is there something in particular that has upset you? Or are you simply wallowing in self-inflicted guilt again? You tend to do that regularly. It's almost a monthly thing," she added, with a certain level of cool humor. 

But she wasn't making light of what he was going through, she was trying to draw him out, he could tell.

Mulder replied, "I haven't been sleeping well."

That went down like a stone. Scully had repeatedly told him she didn't feel she could mother both little William *and* him, and that if he couldn't take care of himself, he'd have to arrange to find himself a female who'd be willing to. He quickly continued, "It's this whole Krycek thing. It's just really starting to get to me. I don't think I ever really had any closure on his death." It helped to say it. To say it aloud and to Scully - Dana. Even if she *didn't* really understand.

"Mulder?" Scully asked, suspiciously, "You're not telling me the whole story, are you? You're editing."

"I am not."

"Cut the crap. I can tell when you're doing it. If you don't stop, I'll get my mother and put you on to her instead."

"It's very simple," Mulder protested. "He saved my life. Several times. Then the bastard went and died without telling me anything, without giving me anything to go on. And now I have to go through this information, these files, and I'm-... Okay, alright. I'll just say it, okay? I think he's haunting me."

"Haunting you. Krycek."

"Yeah."

"Krycek is haunting you. What, is he rattling chains in your apartment at night?"

"Just about. Rattling a saber, anyway. Well, actually, I rattled mine at him, last night. I'm kind of worried about the repercussions."

There was an ominous note in Scully's voice now. "Mulder, what the hell are you doing? Did you hold a seance or something? Or have you been playing with the ouidja board again?"

Mulder sighed through his nose and closed his eyes tightly. "No. Nothing like that. Someone anonymously sent the original Ivory Coast artifact, from the alien ship you investigated, to Reyes at the Bureau. She gave it to me and now I'm being haunted by Krycek's ghost."

"The artifact?" Scully's voice raised two octaves. Then dropped again, alarmingly. "Where is it now? Mulder, Krycek killed Dr Sandoz to cover up any traces of that entire affair. He killed Kritschgau too, and stole all the research, even the laptop."

"Exactly. And now he's haunting me, through the relic. I sent it away and it's in a safe place. But I'm still seeing him. He doesn't seem very happy about this himself, to tell the truth."

"And now you're digging around looking for keys on how to deal with him, in his past?"

"Right. But Scully, I need to exorcise him and I don't think there are many Christian priests who can help me to dispel a ghost raised up by an artifact of alien origin. Sure, it has a very potent reaction to the Bible, but it's a little promiscuous in its cultural influences and preferences."

"So bring in a rabbi and a medicine man. Maybe a Buddhist or two. Mulder, I really can't advise you on this. You're going to have to dig deeper. God, what in hell have you managed to get yourself into this time?" Scully seemed to waver between laughter and concern.

"Yeah, I love you too. Look, I'll see what I can do. Think about it though, will you? Let me know if anything comes to you."

"Seriously, Mulder, an African witch doctor might be your best bet on this one."

Mulder recalled Scully's experiences as she'd related them to him upon her return from Africa. "You might be right. Let's just hope he doesn't turn me into a yam if I manage to offend him somehow."

"If anyone can, you will, Mulder. Please be careful. And stop focusing on Krycek. If it really is-" she stopped, and Mulder could hear the tinkle of the chain around her neck - he realized she must be briefly touching the small crucifix she wore around her neck, "his spirit... The best thing you can do is try to ignore him. Don't focus on him and he'll end up leaving of his own accord."

Mulder whistled. "Dana. This is - I'm going to remember this day. You actually agreed with me, that it might be his ghost."

"And I have our years of experience in the field to thank for that, Mulder. Good luck."

"Thanks. Thanks for hearing me out."

"Let me know how it goes, okay?"

"Okay. I'll be in touch. Bye."

* * * * *

Mulder dreams... 

He's dreaming of Alex: Alex smiling, Alex smirking at him, Alex in tight black jeans and a white t-shirt. Alex is standing next to him, leaning down to kiss him on the cheek. Mulder reaches up to keep him there, holding onto him with both hands. "Do it properly this time," Mulder suggests.

And Alex smiles before kissing him on the mouth, sweetly, tenderly. Mulder is losing himself mind in that kiss, it's so good, so beautiful, so right. Too right and perfect. God, how long has he been waiting for just this? "Alex," he says, horrified to find his voice is nearly a bleat. But it's only a dream.

And now he's in the Hoover Building, wandering the halls. He's walking up to the elevator and the elevator door slides open, revealing Alex standing there with that same smile on his face, the one that has no guile or deception. The one that proves to Mulder that Alex is sincere, that he is glad to see him.

Mulder joins him in the elevator. "Are we going up or down?"

Alex just grins at him.

So Mulder reaches out, to take Alex in his arms and this time kiss him back. But the elevator disappears and they are in his apartment. At least, he thinks it's his apartment. It's odd, like a combination of both his father's house in Martha's Vineyard and No. 42...

And Alex says, "The fish are dead. The bones of the fish won't bring you back."

Mulder frowns. It doesn't make sense. None of this makes any sense. But he doesn't care. He just wants to see Alex without all the clothes; wants to be near him, to touch that skin. Abruptly, the dream shifts without warning and they are sitting on the couch together, Mulder's black leather couch and Alex is naked *finally, at last* and Mulder touches him, leans down to lay against him and the desire is too much and he's coming, coming, coming...

* * * * *

Mulder awoke with a jerk, a wordless cry still stuck in his throat. Fuck. He hadn't had a wet dream like that in years. Years! It wasn't the same dream as before though. He knew it. Instinctively. It hadn't been Alex's ghost this time. It had been a proper dream. The surreality of it was apparent now, in comparison to the previous dreams on the beach. 

Mulder frowned. Christ. What time was it? His bedside clock claimed it was only 4:25 AM. Ah, well. Too much. Far too much. Sighing, he sat up and decided to get out of bed and go for a run. He lifted the covers with distaste. Laundry day, he thought to himself. And closed his eyes as he realized how sick this had become.

There he was, creaming himself over dreams of Alex's ghost. He couldn't even begin to imagine what this said about his sanity, the state of his subconscious. He'd always known that he was on the edge but maybe everyone's doubts about him were well founded. Maybe he was crazy after all. Maybe he was losing it for real this time. Hell, he could never tell the difference anyway.

* * * * *

It's Saturday night in Chicago. The apartment I've rented seems more comfortable than the ones I've been in recently. I don't know; maybe it's psychological. I feel safer here. Maybe because I'm so close to O'Hare International... From there I can easily depart for any number of worldwide destinations. I was starting to feel so trapped in Arizona. 

I haven't had a Mulder dream for several days now. Of course, I've been cheating. Been catching naps throughout the day and staying up all night in an attempt to avoid against the possibility of getting stuck on that godforsaken beach with him again. I feel vaguely triumphant about managing to evade it so far.

I feel like a sitting duck because no matter how many times I change my geographical location, Mulder is thinking about me. I can feel it. I know it's him. I can't ignore it, can't pretend that it isn't.

And it's Saturday night. Loneliest night of the week. Or so they say. I'm tempted to go to sleep in the hopes of meeting him there after all. I feel torn inside though, raw. The last time we dreamed together, he managed to get to me, hurt me badly - despite the fact I was expecting it. 

I really shouldn't be drinking, not right now, not this late at night. I'm too tired and the vodka will send me slipping sliding sideways down into sleep if I'm not careful. I muzzily wonder if I'll dream of him again. See him. Be with him. Doesn't matter -whichever way I look at it, he's haunting ME, no matter what he claims.

* * * * *

It seemed to Mulder that he had barely closed his eyes when he found himself on that beach again.

Somehow it was almost a letdown to see Krycek leaning against that rock. Mulder had built up so much anxiety and anticipation in his mind over this next dream, this meeting, that to see Krycek now was almost an anticlimax.

Krycek glowered at him darkly.

Well, that was to be expected, considering what he'd said to the man in their previous dream. Mulder stood his ground and folded his arms before him. "I'm sorry about what I said, last time. I was taking it out on you. I don't like being stuck here anymore than you do. But I will admit I was out of line."

But once bitten, twice shy. Immured against Mulder's possibly treacherous and devious attempts to get him to lower his guard, Krycek merely met him with a stony silence in return.

With a sigh, Mulder turned away to regard the peaceful surf, the distant horizon. "This isn't easy, for either of us. For me, this is actually an opportunity to heal the past. Wouldn't you agree? I mean, surely it means something for you, as well?"

Krycek's answer was quiet, low. "Band-Aids on bullet holes."

THAT was cryptic, and somehow Mulder had the feeling it was an implicit remark, aimed at letting But once bitten, twice shy. Immured against Mulder's possibly treacherous and devious attempts to get him to lower his guard, Krycek merely met his words with a stony silence.

With a sigh, Mulder turned away to regard the peaceful surf, the distant horizon. "This isn't easy, for either of us. For me, this is actually an opportunity to heal the past. Wouldn't you agree? I mean, surely it means something for you, as well?"

Krycek's answer was quiet, low. "Band-Aids on bullet holes."

THAT was cryptic, and somehow Mulder had the feeling it was an implicit remark, aimed at letting him know just how much pain and suffering Krycek was actually going through. Even now. No rest, even in death. 

'Requiescat in pace'.

Mulder couldn't help the dart of guilt from settling in his stomach at this. He'd wanted Krycek to suffer but now that he was dead and was actually paying for his crimes, Mulder really wished he didn't have to see it.

He murmured, "Funny. I would've thought that'd be salt in those wounds, instead." Mulder turned back to see his reaction.

Anger flickered in Krycek's eyes but he said nothing.

"For what it's worth, I'm not glad that you're in pain. It isn't like this is some kind of twisted victory for me."

"Could've fooled me," Krycek bit out, a wealth of non-stated anger and anguish broiling beneath the surface of his retort.

"I'm not the one keeping you here," Mulder said.

Krycek replied scathingly, "You can practice all the self-deception you want. Just don't expect me to swallow it, too."

Mulder watched him for a few moments. "All right, I'll prove it to you. I'll find a way to release you from this place. Both of us."

Krycek snorted, obviously disbelieving him. But there was a wary hope in his reply. "How? "

"I don't know. I'll find a way." It sounded like a wild promise but Mulder was sincere.

Krycek looked as though he caught it too, almost believed Mulder believed it himself. But he said, "How the hell am I supposed to believe that, when YOU are the one responsible for my being here in the first place?"

"I'm not," Mulder protested. Then stopped himself as Krycek shot him an accusatory glance. He heaved a sigh. "Look, Alex, I'm sorry. You have my word. I'll find out how to get you out of here. Believe me, I don't want to be here anymore than you do." But something occurred to him at this point. If he did manage to find a way to exorcise Krycek's ghost, to release his spirit from this dream environ that the relic had trapped them in, he would never see Krycek again.

Unfortunately, before he had a chance to think about it further, to say anything, to explain, he found himself waking.

* * * * * * *

In the darkness of the booth at the back of the bar, Mulder caught sight of the slim, blonde woman, her hair pinned up severely and her recognizable, ice-queen delicacy of expression belied only by her rather pouty lips.

"Marita? Hello. How have you been?" Mulder sat down opposite her. She was inscrutable, sitting there before him. Mulder wondered if living in the aftermath of the Cold War had been as trying for her as it had been for the rest of them. He could relate. Here he was, ex-Federal Agent and self-appointed investigator of bizarre phenomena, having survived his parents' involvement with the Grays, the Government, the Rebels and the Black Oil, instigating a probably ill-advised meeting with the only living operative of the now-disbanded Consortium - a shady character who wanted nothing more than to recover from years of intrigue, suffering and survival. It hadn't been easy for anyone. He wondered how she was doing. Really. Beyond the niceties and pleasantries. Still, she had agreed to see him and he didn't want to pry. He had a feeling this would be difficult enough, with his intended line of questioning. "Can I get you a drink?"

She shook her head slightly with a frown. "No, thank you. You wanted to see me? What is this about, Agent Mulder?"

Mulder shifted uncomfortably. "I'm not with the Bureau anymore. Actually, I just wanted to ask you about something, someone from our past. I was wondering if you would be willing to talk with me about him. I think you are probably the only person who knew him; as well as anyone could, anyway. He's long-dead now, but... I would appreciate it if you would help me out here, because I'm kind of haunted, in a way."

Marita frowned again. "Who?"

"Alex Krycek."

Now there was a trace of fire in the cold, perceptive eyes. Also a measure of hurt. Damn. Mulder wished he had been a little more prepared to deal with the emotional fall-out. He knew they must have had a relationship... The files had mentioned that Ms. Covarrubias had found Krycek attractive and it had been for that reason alone that she had convinced the British Elder to spare Krycek's life and allow him to prove his potential worth to the Syndicate, before he'd been assigned as Mulder's partner in the FBI.

Gently, Mulder added, "I never really knew him."

She snorted, quietly, her pale blue eyes wandering past him to watch the dim bar behind them, the front door and the occasional patron entering or leaving. "I doubt anyone ever did. He's dead, Mr. Mulder. Leave him alone. Let him rest."

Mulder said uncomfortably, "I would, but he won't leave me alone. I never had closure on him, was never able to forget. Even now, I'm plagued with dreams and unresolved thoughts about his involvement with me, the Consortium, the-"

"Mr. Mulder," Marita interrupted him in a low voice. "I can't help you. If you've read the file, then you are already familiar with everything that I wrote in those initial reports on his progress. He could have had it all, could have run everything. He threw it away on some altruistic notion. Much like yourself."

Mulder was taken aback. Surprised, he asked, "What do you mean?"

She fixed him with a penetrating gaze, her icy-blue eyes inscrutable. "Idealistic fantasies of making the world a better place, of finding the truth and exposing for the rest of the world to see. No one WANTS to see it. I would've thought you'd understand that at least, by now. People only accept what they wish to accept. You can lead a horse to water, but..." She shrugged, and elegantly sipped from her glass as though they were at an embassy dinner and not this dingy, dark little bar.

Mulder was silent, digesting her words. "What did you mean, like me?"

She considered him. "Your original contact, Deep Throat, could see the potential that you represented. He was deliberately grooming you to take over. He saw, as did Cancerman, that if you were to inherit your father's work and take his place in the Syndicate, there was a chance for the redemption of the Project. You are a good, well-intentioned man and they knew that it would validate their own involvement to have someone like you on board. Surely you suspected?"

Mulder felt his face stiffen, mentally kicking himself for not figuring this out before. "Sure, but what you're saying is that Krycek was the same? He didn't take his place in the Consortium, for the same ideology that I hold?"

"Mr. Mulder, I won't bandy words with you. Alex looked up to you; he admired you and followed your example in whichever ways he could. Certainly he didn't have your access to the federal government. He had to work behind the scenes. But he successfully brought about their downfall. Up to the last, he worked ceaselessly to ensure that humanity's position in this situation might be saved."

"You admired him."

Her eyes dropped away from his. "I did. I recognized in him a spirit much like yours." She looked back up at him almost accusingly and added dryly, "I'm surprised that you did not."

Mulder found himself squirming slightly in his seat. "I- I did. I just never agreed with his methods."

She raised a slim, elegant brow at him. Thoughtfully, she murmured, "He was willing to do what needed to be done. In many ways, I suppose he accepted the consequences and risks of actions that others like you and I were unwilling to face. I can't agree with all that he did. For example, his interest in you. By following your lead, he ended up in a situation that led to his death. I'm sure that if-."

Mulder was stunned at her accusation, inherent in her statement. "Hold on, I'm just a little- Can we backtrack here, for a second? How can you possibly hold me responsible for that?"

Marita regarded him distantly, twisting the tall glass with her dainty fingers. "Trust works both ways, Mr. Mulder. He betrayed you in the beginning, true, but he was loyal to the wrong men in that situation - Cancerman intended to have him killed as the fall-guy, the scapegoat, for the snafu over the DAT tape and your partner's sister. Alex was in no way responsible for any of that. He-"

"He killed my father!" Mulder spat out.

"Yes. Because he would have had to kill you after your father told you the truth about the Project and his involvement in it. And because of your resentment and enmity towards him for that one action, fuelled by your own grief and frustrations, you betrayed him, in the end. I saw a copy of the last few minutes before his death, salvaged from the FBI surveillance tape before they doctored the cameras' evidence."

Mulder sat fuming, angry with himself and with Krycek. Angry with his father. His mother. And with the entire Consortium for having fucked over just about everyone and everything he knew in the course of his life. He sighed and closed his eyes. There were times, like right now, that he wished he could make it all just disappear and live a normal life somewhere divorced from all these considerations and past events that seemed to linger hauntingly upon him.

Marita flicked her lighter and lit up a cigarette.

Finally, opening his eyes once more, Mulder said, "Where is his body?"

She frowned. "It disappeared from the morgue soon after he was recovered from the scene of the shooting."

He took a deep breath. "Very well. One last question, if you'll allow me. Uh, the relics, artifacts from the alien ship? I believe in the reports, in that file on Krycek and his foster father Arntzen and the KGB gulag...it mentioned a meeting in St Petersburg not long after the artifacts disappeared. You wrote that Krycek had them. The artifacts."

She frowned again. "Yes, but what he did with them, no one knows. I certainly have heard nothing."

Mulder pinched his nose, up between his brows and exhaled. "Okay. I'm still kind of at square one with those."

"I do know that they were powerful, and that Krycek considered them the key to shifting the reins of power from the Grays and the Black Oil back to human hands," Marita offered. "Although how they worked, I have no idea. He never mentioned or explained."

Mulder nodded. "Okay. It looks like my best bet is to try to track them down. Thanks for seeing me, Marita. I appreciate it. I know it isn't easy or pleasant for you to discuss this with me."

Her eyes narrowed. Then, she nodded too. "I was in the area. A few weeks from now, I'll be overseas. You caught me just in time. I can't say if I'll be available again though."

He smiled wryly. "Understood. Don't worry, I won't be trying to cash in on any favors or anything. Or yelling for help. I'm just glad you saw me at all. Thanks."

She stood and gathered up her handbag, her coat and left the table, pausing to stand beside him momentarily. She put her hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry I couldn't have been of more help. Take care, Mr. Mulder."

"I will. You, too."

Sitting glumly without really any more leads on the damned relics or how to reacquire them, Mulder realized that Marita had probably been jealous of him... For having secured Krycek's admiration. Jesus. Everyone tried to use everyone, and in the end it led only to old acquaintances remembering the ones who'd passed on.

How terrifically fucking depressing. 

Mulder remembered the way Krycek had always looked at him, his eyes somehow hot and dark, open and inviting hurt, expecting rejection. He had the same look about him in the dreams.

Mulder had a horrible suspicion that he knew now why he'd always projected all his guilt and violent frustration onto Alex Krycek - it wasn't just that he hated him - he wanted him. And hated himself for wanting Krycek, so of course hated Krycek for that too. It was a horrible vicious circle and it continued even after Krycek's death. How fucked up was THAT?

In a way, the artifact was showing him in vivid, gruesomely inescapable Technicolor with each dream, that he was grieving over the rat-bastard and he WAS responsible for Krycek's presence on that beach. He was punishing himself for being blind to this truth previously, to his own feelings for Krycek and Alex's admiration of him, which was now so fucking obvious and of course completely hopeless. All he could ever hope to have in terms of any kind of resolution with Alex now was to let his ghost rest.

Talking was ALL they would ever have. Did he want more than that? His cheek burned where the memory of Alex kissing him that night so long ago in his apartment flared brightly.

Mulder realized, too, that since Alex was dead, his ghost was all he could ever have. The battle really WAS over him keeping Alex there. The worse trial was yet to come - could he let him go?

* * * * *

The beach was unchanged, as ever. And this time, waiting for him as expected, Krycek sat leaning against one of the large rocks. He straightened, with his arms still folded before him, almost defiantly. "What kept you?"

"Ha, ha." Mulder didn't rise to the comment however, but plunged straight on. "Look, Alex, I think you should know that I made some headway today."

Krycek's brows lifted. "Oh? Should I be worried?"

"Only if I have to get the African witch doctor, as Scully recommended. I don't think you'd fancy spending the rest of eternity as a yam. I know you don't want to be here, but I think you may be stuck here until we can work out exactly why it is that the relic is keeping you here."

Krycek's eyes widened slightly. "What relic?"

"The one you liberated from our possession. Along with several men's lives and all of the research on it? The alien artifact from the ship that re-submerged off the Ivory Coast. The same artifact that Reyes was sent and gave to me a while ago. The one that gave me that telepathic mental breakdown and nearly lost my brain to the Smoking Man's surgeons? The one that is responsible for me having these dreams in the first place. This beach - this entire dream - is a recreation of when I first came into contact with it. It's a way for it to interface with my subconscious mind, and when I was operated on, they removed the part of my brain that responds immediately, which is why I'm not currently residing in a mental institution."

Krycek interrupted him with a steady stream of curses. They sounded Russian. "Where is it now? How did Reyes get it?"

"That's academic at this point. What we need to do is find out how to stop it from exerting its influence. It's too far away for it to be working on me, yet it still is. And you are still here. We need to find a way to break its hold." When Krycek didn't reply, Mulder stood resolutely and stared straight into his face. "Come on, share. I've told you what's going on, now you have to give me something in return. Otherwise we're not going to get anywhere, here."

Swallowing, Krycek said lowly, "The artifact is what is known as a magic square. Very few people recognize the significance of what these objects are or what they can do. There are two others I'd collected. I thought they were all in the same place. Obviously someone has discovered them and is now randomly distributing them."

"Unless they are somehow revealing their presence to unwitting people and using them as carrier pigeons, to find their way here," Mulder said, with a flash of insight. "That would explain why Reyes was pushed to give it to me. She was just another link in the chain."

Krycek flinched. "Damn."

Licking his lips, Mulder said, slowly, "That isn't all. Alex, we found your father's file, and Arntzen's, as well as all of the original UN reports that Marita Covarrubias made on you to the Syndicate Elders in New York City. We purged them from the DOD archives but I have a copy. I read it all. There was a picture of your mother."

Krycek froze, stunned into paralyzed silence. When he did speak it was a breathy whisper stained throughout with tenderness and pain. "Moi mata..." He cleared his throat and stood up, pushing away from the rock. "So why are we here? And why did the magic square want you to find it?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, at this point. I still don't know if you're real or not, or if you're just a projection taken from my subconscious, or if you are somehow an extension of the artifact's attempts to communicate with me."

Krycek gave him a sardonic look; one that clearly let Mulder know that Krycek considered what he had just said was completely nuts. He did nothing to enlighten Mulder however. "I've thought about your offer. I've decided to take you up on it."

"My offer?" Mulder was nonplussed. 

Krycek smiled. "Yeah. Remember, that dream we had, when you told me to kiss your ass? And to kiss you properly?" He stepped close to Mulder and, taking Mulder's face between both his hands, he pressed a kiss on either cheek and with that same smile, leaned in to kiss Mulder full on the lips.

Mulder was rooted to the spot with surprise. Krycek just stood there, letting his mouth linger on Mulder's, undemanding and somehow strangely warm and right. He was almost upset when Krycek pulled back a little. Then the words began to filter through. 

"I think you remember what comes next, don't you?"

Fuck, no. "Alex, you are NOT kissing my ass. Stay away from my ass. Far away." Fear shot through Mulder at the thought of Alex realizing just how much he wanted this, wanted him. After all they'd been through, after all the times he'd railed against him. And now that he could never have him. Except... maybe this was their only chance to resolve this tension that existed between them, this desire...

Krycek leaned forward again, to place a slow, smoldering kiss on Mulder's mouth, this time letting his teeth gently catch that full lower lip lightly before breathing, "Nice flavor, Mulder."

"What?" Mulder couldn't think past the fact that this was truly, supremely bizarre. That it felt good. That it was a fucking tragedy that it could be this good and the man was fucking DEAD. He wanted to cry again and pulled back, out of Krycek's grasp. "Flavor?"

"Yeah. Vanilla Fox." The smile became a carnivorous grin. "Stop me. I dare you."

"From what? Stop you from what?" Mulder asked, doubtfully. He wasn't sure he liked where this was going.

Krycek casually stuck out one foot and before Mulder realized what was happening, Krycek had pushed him down so that he fell on his butt in the sand. Krycek was on top of him and had turned him over before he could react, although he began struggling as he felt his jeans suddenly pulled down, baring his ass to the exceptionally bright sky for the whole empty beach and Krycek to gaze their fill. 

"No-" Mulder choked out, scrabbling for leverage, before going still with shock at the unmistakable feeling of Krycek's hot mouth pressing into his right buttock. This HAD to be happening - it felt so real.

"Mm. Lovely." The grin was still in Krycek's voice and then a wet tongue suddenly swiped upwards over the skin where he'd kissed him. 

Mulder jumped, startled. He didn't struggle, but instead tried to rally himself. Coldly, he said, "Even when you're dead you can't keep your hands to yourself, Alex, you pervert."

The sudden use of teeth made him yelp slightly. Krycek'd had the temerity to bite him. Enough was enough. He tried to renew his struggles. Krycek was mouthing his way upwards now; still holding Mulder down but sliding his way up the t-shirt Mulder wore. "You can tell me, Foxy. Did you like it? I've thought a long time about it -kissing you, properly, you said. But I'm sorry I'm going to have to disappoint you on that last request. Try as I might, I can't kiss my own ass. Maybe you could do it for me." The grin was gone and in its place, a rising heat in Krycek's voice that was all at once telltale and completely inflaming. 

This felt far too real to be a dream. He was hard, so hard that his erection almost hurt as it was pressed into the sand. He found himself suddenly free as Krycek stood up, letting him go and the disappointment made him bite his tongue in the effort not to complain. 

He couldn't believe a word of what Krycek might have told him in life, but dead men tell no tales. He wondered if Krycek would lie to him now. He pulled up his jeans and turned to him. "Alex? Is it true? That our agendas have been all too similar throughout the years?"

Krycek shook his head. "Sorry, Foxy. No freebies. Besides, you didn't kiss my ass."

He flushed, and got to his feet. "No, and I won't. Go haunt someone else. Get them to do it."

Krycek laughed bitterly. "You're the one who's haunting me." He said it like it was an accusation.

He stopped, stock-still. Slowly, the realization dawned. "We're sharing the same dream."

Krycek looked at him, quizzically. "Yeah. You're a quick one. Fast on the uptake. Jesus, Mulder, how long did THAT take?"

Mulder began to smile though. "You're alive."

Krycek blinked, a look of surprise creeping over him although Mulder could see how quickly it was gone in the next moment. "You're crazy."

"No, I'm not." Mulder slowly shook his head. This artifact, this magic square, it's enhanced my intuitive ability. I can feel it. And you're not dead." It was with a burst of happiness that he realized what this could mean.

Krycek took a step backwards and folded his arms in front of him. He lifted his chin. "You saw me go down, and we both know that Skinner executed me."

He refused to back down on this though, now that he had got hold of it. "Alex. Tell me the truth."

Krycek looked mad at this, however. "You're always demanding the truth. I've told you over and over there IS no ultimate truth, Mulder."

The relief that flooded over him at the knowledge was a balm, for Alex WAS alive, he was certain of it now. Thank god. He had a second chance. He could wait forever and a day. Reconciliation was the name of the game. He wouldn't fuck this up now, not when it meant so much. It was no longer about forgiveness... No, it was so much more.

"No, YOUR truth, Alex. You're alive, aren't you?" He was nodding as he stepped forward, inching his way towards Krycek, feeling his way with his toes in the sand, knowing that they'd been following this particular path since the beginning of their relationship. Mulder smiled. He stopped, a foot away from Krycek who had backed up against the rock and couldn't go any further. "I can wait. I've waited this long." 

Krycek's eyes narrowed. "For what?"

"For you." Mulder turned away and regarded the horizon where the sea met the sky in an indistinct blurry line. He looked upwards, bothered and distracted by something. "Where's the sun?" he asked, suddenly. The fact that there was no sun should have tipped him off to something in this dream of his - no, THEIRS - that was the key to understanding how to navigate from this point to others in their shared mental framework. He was about to look back down to Alex when he woke up.

* * * *

Damn! 

Damn it. He should have concentrated on getting more out of Alex. He needed to know Alex's whereabouts! Not to mention letting him know that he actually did appreciate those kisses. All of them. Even the more interesting ones, below the belt.

But he knew now that the relic, that magic square as Alex called it, wasn't letting either of them go until they'd resolved their differences AND solved the mystery of how to transport themselves outside the dream environs. That was probably the whole point, solving both their inner psychological problems and teaching them to learn how to astrally navigate at the same time. 

And this of course meant that until they had done both, Alex was just as stuck with him as he was with Alex. He laughed quietly to himself, feeling the waterbed quiver beneath him.

Meanwhile, he was sporting a painfully stone-hard erection. Closing his eyes and replaying how it had felt to have Alex holding him down in the sand, those warm lips moving over his asscheeks, that tongue trailing on his skin - and even that bite - oh god - He quickly brought himself to completion.

He felt a huge degree of relief and satisfaction at having finally solved the question of the pain in Alex's eyes. Those large, wounded, expressive eyes that somehow had always been begging him to understand...

Yeah, he understood now. All he had to do now was lay the trap and wait. He'd use himself as the bait. Meanwhile, the dreams would help him to find Alex. He grinned, his hand resting on his now-quiescent cock, remembering the wide smile on Alex's face when it had finally become apparent that it was the only option left to play. Mulder vaguely wondered who was seducing whom.

The relief at knowing also that he had been given a second chance, that they both had, was delightful. He felt lightheaded and rather giddy. Alex Krycek wasn't dead after all. By some miracle, and Mulder still had no proof or any idea how it was possible, Alex had survived. There was the matter of that left arm, of course. And that brought a slight doubt to his mind. There was no telling in what form Alex might have survived that final head wound that brought him down. But to be that lucid and able, in the shared dream state, Alex had to be in pretty good shape.

He closed his eyes, finally able to feel at rest for the first time in long while.

* * * *

Fuck. FUCK! I'm hurriedly packing, cramming things into the backpack and the smaller bag, deliberating which destination to try first. I have a sinking feeling that no matter where I run to, he's going to end up finding me.

Okay. Deep breath, stop panicking. Gotta think clearly, here. Keep a clear head. 

He's onto me. He KNOWS. It's only a matter of time. He's bound to catch up with me sooner or later. Stupid, STUPID to give in to the impulse to kiss him.

O'Hare International beckons.

Color me outa here...

 

* * *

 

Magic Square

3: The Artifact

* * * *

From Jacksonville to Salt Lake City, Milwaukee to San Diego, no matter where the fuck I go, he's there in my dreams. Drawing me out, grinning at me, trying to goad me into slipping up and betraying some indication of where I am. He's right on my tail, only a few steps behind. I called in a favor a couple days ago and what do you know; he was in San Diego looking for me at the hotel I'd stayed in. He's figured out I just stick close to the airports.

Bastard.

And I'm wasting a shitload of money on this flurry of flights. I'm thinking of going to the last place he'd think to look for me -Virginia. He'll never look for me in his own backyard.

Somehow, though, I know that he'll eventually find me, no matter where I am.

It's not that easy to try to get a good night's sleep in the air. I've ended up sleeping during the afternoons in an attempt to avoid him, catching flights in the evening and staying up all night.

So here I am in Minneapolis. The disorientation of one hotel after another is starting to get to me. I'm in a first class room in the Clarion but after a while, who cares - I'd like to stop running. I stopped in Phoenix and look what happened. 

Now I'm the paranoid one. Maybe it's the sleep deprivation but I can't stop jumping at shadows. Hallucinations are fun but not when one thinks that one is being watched by aliens or hunted by a spooky ex-FBI man prone to impulsive fits of violent behavior at the sight of me. Is it paranoia? Maybe. I'd dare anyone who thinks so to spend just one day in my shoes.

I suppose I'm sulking, but Jesus, who wouldn't in my position? I can't stop thinking that when he does finally catch up with me, it'll be frontier justice all over again and this time he'll ensure somehow that the fucking aliens don't revive me. I'm starting to think he'd be doing me a favor.

What a trip. Fox Mulder as Angel de la Mort.

I sigh and hold up my glass in a mocking salute before draining it. 

* * * *

Mulder was grateful for the pass-card that Frohike had given him - it enabled him to open the hotel room door much the way that a skeleton key would have. 

Following Krycek's previous pattern, Mulder had guessed he'd choose a three star hotel close to the airport. He'd been catching up with Krycek, slowly but surely. Mulder was a little put out that Krycek kept evading their shared dream space - it was playing havoc with his own sleep cycle. Too late, he'd realized Krycek must have been sleeping during the day. He'd end up on Singapore time eventually, in his attempts to keep up.

Slipping into the room, he paused a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dim interior. As his pupils dilated to compensate for the lack of light, he spotted a form in the bed, under the covers. Creeping stealthily across the room, Mulder could make out Krycek's sleeping features in the sliver of light from the partially open drapes at the window. Must've fallen prey to exhaustion finally, to be sleeping in the early morning as he was, Mulder mused to himself. He clicked off the safety.

Krycek's eyes flew open at the sound and he sat up with an audible intake of breath..

Stepping back, Mulder said, "Ah-ah. Stay down, Krycek. My trigger finger is rusty and I have no idea what I might hit if you get up."

"Fuck," Krycek muttered and sank back down with a sigh.

Mulder turned on the bedside lamp and then nodded approvingly. "All this pale blue compliments you, Alex. Although, I guess it isn't really pale blue, is it? It's - more a periwinkle, or even sky blue - "

"How'd you find me?" Krycek passed a weary hand over his face, rubbing his eyes.

Mulder sucked on his lower lip, deliberating. "Hands up, over your head. Slowly. That's it."

"You gonna shoot me, Mulder?" Krycek's tone was jocular and light but Mulder could see the quickening of his breath and the way he tensed up as Mulder moved closer.

"It's not my intention but like I said, don't push your luck. I might hit your leg or something even more vital." Mulder brought the gun against Krycek's upper thigh, through the covers. He took out a pair of cuffs. "Here. Try these on."

Krycek stared at him. Finally, he ventured, "You don't need to do this."

"Right," Mulder replied, dryly. "Like you weren't a trained KGB operative working for the Syndicate all these years. Put them on."

"For God's sake. Look, Mulder, I-"

Mulder dug the gun into Krycek's leg, hard.

"Ow! Fuck, you don't have to- Here, I'm putting it on."

Mulder noticed Krycek's left arm. "I thought it was true. How'd you get your arm back? No," he said, swiftly, "just the one wrist for now." Mulder stepped closer and took out a second pair of handcuffs, snapping them onto Krycek's right wrist. Attaching each of the other ends above Krycek's head to the bedrail, leaving his arms apart, Mulder admired the sight. The covers were still over him though. Krycek was wearing a white t-shirt and he wondered if he should have had him remove it first, to slow him down in the event that Krycek managed to somehow get loose. Oh well. It was unlikely at this point.

He sat down on the edge of the bed. "That's better," he said cheerfully. "You gave me quite a run-around, you know. Now, your arm. I'm glad you have it back - but how'd it happen?"

"The aliens," Krycek said, in a low voice. "Grew me a new one and grafted it on."

"How thoughtful."

"Not really."

Mulder wondered why Krycek would be so ungrateful but there were more pressing matters. He reached up a hand to feel the back of Krycek's neck.

Krycek's response was to suck in a breath and flinch away from him.

Mulder locked eyes with him and slowly felt the back of his neck. "Just checking. Don't panic."

Krycek snorted softly. "Right."

Mulder tried to ignore how warm Krycek's skin was, how nice it felt to touch his neck. Mulder ignored the impulse to lean down and kiss him. This was interesting territory. Krycek looked both scared and glad at the same time.

Mulder grinned as he pulled back, keeping his gun against Krycek's leg. He knew he must have a wolfish expression. Krycek's gaze kept flicking past his shoulder, his face strained and nervous. Good. Keep him off-balance. Mulder had no idea what he was going to ask but it felt so nice to finally, at LAST, have Krycek in a position where he had to answer him for once.

"So. I was right; you ARE still alive," Mulder said cheerfully.

"Yeah, but for how much longer?" The imperceptible trembling evident in his arms that were held apart and over his head belied Krycek's sardonic tone.

"I haven't come here to kill you. You'd probably end up haunting me for real."

Krycek didn't respond, merely looked away, beyond Mulder at the chest of drawers that had his gun. Krycek let out a breath.

Mulder regarded him. Krycek was probably wishing he'd slept with it under his pillow. He looked over at the empty glass on the bedside table. "Vodka?" he asked.

Krycek licked his lips. "It's weird, you know? I still get phantom pains in my arm, even though I've got it back."

Mulder lifted his chin, nodding once. "What about you, though? The whole of you? How'd you manage to survive? Last time I saw you was with a bullet in your forehead."

A dark expression crossed Krycek's face, a shadow entering his eyes. They were both remembering that fateful last encounter under the Hoover Building. "The aliens. They... revived me. You've met them -you know what they're capable of."

Mulder nodded. "The way I see it, you paid your dues with that, Alex. I'm not here to kill you."

Krycek lifted his brows. "Then what're these in aid of?" He lifted his clenched hands up, rattling the matching pair of cuffs against the metal railing of the bed.

"The only way those'll kill you is if you start sawing yourself with them and bleed to death. And I'll shoot you in the leg first if you try that, so I'd advise against it. Those are just a preventative measure... Against you escaping. Alex, the artifacts, those magic squares: they're responsible for bringing us back together, here. I need to find the others, the ones you acquired."

Krycek sighed. "I don't have them. Not anymore. I had them stashed away in what I THOUGHT was a safe place but they've walked." He stopped at Mulder's leer. "What? What is it?"

Mulder was now grinning broadly. "Just thinking of taking you up on that last one... Seems we're in a perfect position for me to kiss YOUR ass, Alex."

Krycek went still. Very still. And swallowed. In a low voice, he said, "Not if I'm laying on it. Mulder, c'mon. You don't need to do this - I'm not going to run. There isn't any point. We both know you can find me wherever I go." He was speaking faster as Mulder stood up. A satisfying note of panic entered his voice. "You don't have to do this-" he let out a gasp as Mulder whipped back the covers, revealing Krycek's white shorts and bare legs. "That's better," Mulder said, sitting back down and letting the gun rest casually against Krycek's hip.

Krycek's lips were pressed together in a tight line of displeasure. His breathing had grown shallower.

"Now, where were we? This seems kind of familiar, almost." Mulder noted that Krycek was no longer looking at him at all; he was fixedly staring up at the ceiling instead. "We have a problem - we're both caught up in the same dream, over and over again. The only way we can stop it from happening again is if we work together, and resolve our outstanding issues."

"I don't have any conflict with you. I'd be very happy if you left. There's the door."

Mulder pursed his lips. "Don't lie, Krycek. It's getting so old."

"I haven't lied to you in years," Krycek returned, bitterly. "I've actually told you the truth, just about every single time our paths have crossed and-"

"A lie of omission is still a lie, Alex," Mulder pointed out, mildly. "I'm not here to fight with you, either. I'm willing to forgive you for the past, for your betrayal of me, for helping them take Scully, for my father's death, the whole thing. Don't you see: this is an opportunity for both of us to wash our hands of the mess our parents left us? We both have a new lease on life, a second chance. Let's not waste it. We can work together on this."

A flicker of what looked like hope entered Krycek's eyes as he glanced at Mulder. But he said, "How can you expect me to trust you when you have everything to gain by having your revenge on me this way?"

"What way?" Mulder was lost. 

Krycek's face hardened but he didn't answer. 

"If you mean that you think I'll betray your trust in return for your betrayal of ME, back when you were in the FBI, you're wrong. I won't. I'm trusting you here, too, against my own better judgment. Even though everything about you is reminding me that I shouldn't. But it's time to stop; don't you think? Alex, I'm only here to talk. I give you my word."

Krycek's eyes narrowed. "Whatever. What do you want?"

"Jesus, haven't you been listening?" Mulder was starting to lose his temper. "Reconciliation. Resolution. I can't forget what you did, but I can forgive. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

Krycek wet his dry lips with his tongue. The sight sent a little dart of arousal shooting through Mulder's lower belly. A little voice with a wicked undertone was whispering in the back of his mind, 'he's restrained, he's here, he's at your mercy, and he wants you. You know he does. He's not afraid of you, he's afraid of what you'll do if you know just how much wants you. And you BOTH know it.'

Krycek was speaking, the undercurrents of fear and doubt running through his voice. "You come in here and hold a gun on me, cuff me -and expect me to trust you? Go to hell, Mulder."

Mulder pulled a face, impressed at his bravado. "You're right. We're not on an equal footing here. Still, it's kind of familiar, wouldn't you agree?"

Krycek evidently grasped what Mulder was referring to: that night in his apartment years back when Krycek had brought word of an alien rebel leader on an Air Force base. His eyes widened. In fact, Mulder was sure of it. He deliberately let his eyes rake slowly downward over Krycek's body, then back up again to his face. "Seems to me there's another part of you that remembers, too."

Krycek's partial arousal was evident from the front of his shorts. His breathing had quickened but it stopped completely as Mulder brought up his other hand to Krycek's erection. Krycek stared back at him, his cock lengthening and hardening now in Mulder's hand to its full glory. Mulder smiled down at him. 

Krycek caught his lower lip between his teeth, as Mulder tightened his grasp for a moment then let go, withdrawing. In a low voice Krycek said, "What do you WANT, Mulder?"

Mulder tilted his head. "Just hear me out. I want closure on you; I don't want to keep dreaming about you every night. I know you want that too. We need to find the other pieces of that ship and gather them in one place. The part of my brain, that goes haywire when those things are around has been neutralized, so I'm actually the perfect person to do it. But I can't do it alone, and you collected them all before. I'm sure you can do it again. We both have a vested interest in finding out why they brought us together and what they want."

Mulder absently tapped the gun against Krycek's hip, repeatedly, thinking aloud. "I thought you were a ghost, haunting me, Alex. I don't want to spend the rest of my nights tied to you. And we can help each other to resolve this conflict that we've always had."

Krycek rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Get to the point. How do you suggest we do that?"

"Hear me out. I realize now that my father made his own choices and reaped the consequences of his own actions. So did my mother. I think you of all people would understand that, seeing as your parents paid the price for their treachery against the Soviets when you were a kid. But Alex, I know now that just as you could forgive Arntzen for giving the orders for their execution, I can forgive you for the same. And I figure that you've paid for your actions with your death, last year."

Krycek let out a breath. It looked like it was from a mixture of relief and stress.

Mulder continued, "You might not believe me, but I've always wanted closure - I never wanted anything else. On my sister, on my mother, my father, even on that smoking bastard. Even Deep Throat; all the people who've died... I guess the only thing I can hope for is to resolve this thing between us so that we can put all our ghosts to rest."

Krycek shifted in place, looking unsettled and restless, but he didn't interrupt.

"I tried to make things work with Dana; she's been my partner, my friend, closer than a lover or a sister, but I guess with the baby, she's finally got the life and future that she wanted. Maybe in some strange way, we're both alike - two satellites in an erratic orbit around a smaller world that doesn't really have any place for us. Hell, even the aliens don't bother with us anymore. The artifacts are the only things that seem to care that we're here, these days. I don't-"

"Mulder," Krycek cut in with a bored tone. "Either shoot me or fuck me, but please, shut up. Get to the point, already. If you keep talking in that same tone of voice, endlessly..."

Mulder stared, wondering if he should get upset at this, rise to it... Somehow though, he could see the humor in it. He smiled slowly. And picked up the gun from where he'd let it rest on the bed beside them. "So my voice puts you to sleep, huh? Should I be flattered? Or am I boring you?" He held up the gun and looked at it, then at Krycek. "Are you still bored? Or have I got your attention again?"

Krycek held his breath again, tensing warily. A definite expression of fear settled on his face. "Jesus, Mulder, you don't have to-don't do this, you don't need to. I heard you, I did. We can work this out-"

Mulder leaned away, putting the gun on the bedside table. "It's not loaded."

Krycek stared at him as the implication of this sank in.

"It was just a deterrent. I didn't want any scenes. Besides, I just wanted to make sure you weren't going to shoot at ME. And this way, I got you to sit still long enough to hear me out."

"You son of a bitch," Krycek said, partly angry, partly relieved. His hands gripped the metal rail above his head.

"Yeah, I know. I'll let you go in a minute, but first, I'm going to do something that I now realize I've wanted to do for a long time," Mulder continued, leaning down, bringing his face closer to Krycek's.

Krycek held himself quite still, his face coloring as Mulder remained several inches away. His throat convulsed as he swallowed.

"I think you've wanted it too, haven't you?" Mulder asked, quietly, scanning his eyes. Krycek was trembling again.

Mulder smirked a little, leaning to close the distance and press his lips to Krycek's, slowly. He let his mouth rest there, against Krycek's, feeling the heat come over him, washing over him, leaving him breathless and achingly hard. Warm, firm, soft lips under his. Sweet, quiet - and with a feeling of mounting tension like a coiled spring, this thing between them, brought into sharp relief as he remained there, unmoving, letting the kiss go on...and on....and on... 

Finally, he pulled away. Krycek opened his own eyes to look up at him, surprised and looking a little defensive and vulnerable. There was a question in them that Mulder wanted to answer. He brought up one hand to cup Krycek's cheek, touching his face, thoughtfully. His voice was rougher than he expected as he said, "Was that what you wanted?"

Krycek replied with a question of his own. "Was it what YOU wanted?"

Mulder smiled. "Yeah. You don't look disappointed, though."

Krycek's eyes fluttered. "Oh, but I am. Try it again."

Snickering, Mulder took Krycek's face in both hands and leaned down to kiss him again, this time feeling Krycek's lips part and a tentative tongue-tip flick against his. 

Fuck. Warmth, wet, so good...and lips moving against his, getting crushed beneath his own, and mutual inhalations of quickening desperation as Krycek's mouth opened wider, letting Mulder taste him, all of him. He moaned into Krycek's mouth, feeling Alex's answering moan as Krycek lifted his head to meet him, despite the fact that Mulder was pushing him down against the pillow. Their tongues were flailing against each other, and then he found he was licking Alex's lips, nibbling on them. It was hungry, urgent, hot and finally Mulder knew he was going to have to stop unless he wanted to climb atop Alex and just rut against him. Indeed, his mind was whirling now and he honestly couldn't come up with any reasons why he shouldn't do just that.

Some niggling sense of propriety whispered to him, however, that it might be better to wait and do it... properly. Later. Besides, he was feeling a bit lightheaded. He'd never kissed a guy before. Sure, it wasn't just any guy, it was Alex. Alex Krycek. But still.

And then he laughed. "Alex, you look - pissed off. What's the matter? Wasn't I any good?"

"What, you're just going to leave me like this?" Krycek was glaring at him, looking a little mussed. Also, his hard-on was tenting his shorts, poking upwards rather obviously.

Mulder licked his lips, weighing the possibilities. He knew Krycek desired him, but the reality of being here, with him, and the thought of actually having sex with him was something that he found he actually wasn't really ready for. In fact, truth be told, he was kind of frightened at how strong it was... This desire. This - want.

And Krycek had already known how he felt for Mulder all this time -Mulder hadn't really come to terms with it until recently. It was shocking to him just exactly HOW perfect and right it was, to be kissing Alex. 

Jesus. Kissing Alex Krycek. 

Mulder knew that Alex wouldn't run now, though. They hadn't fucked yet. He smirked a little and took the key to both sets of cuffs out of the pocket of his jeans. He undid the cuffs.

"Now you DO look disappointed," Mulder observed, nonchalantly.

Alex rubbed both his wrists in turn, scowling at Mulder. He got up quickly and went to pull on his jeans. He put on a pair of socks next. "Well, so much for a good night's sleep."

Mulder watched him dressing. "Why can't we stay here?"

Alex glowered at him. "No. Not after what you just pulled. Come on, let's go get coffee or something."

Mulder shrugged. "Okay. My internal clock is shot to hell, anyway."

* * * *

Sitting in the diner, Mulder thoughtfully watched Alex watching the people passing by the window on the street. Alex kept flicking his eyes at them, obviously keeping alert for possible trouble. Outside, the early morning sky was filling with busy grey clouds. 

Mulder regarded him. "We have to find all the pieces of the ship, all the magic squares. We need to gather all of them in one place and see if they fit together somehow. Who knows, it might even be like a jigsaw puzzle. Literally. So we can prove that this dream phenomenon is linked to them. I don't know how yet, but there's got to be a way for us to prove that they have an effect on us. Some kind of energy field or something."

Alex sighed and looked down at his plate, toying with his fork in the food. "You know, Fox, that's one of the things about you that I've never quite figured out. Why do you have to- ?" He paused. "Look, you want to believe so badly, you spend all your time trying to gather evidence that what you want so desperately to believe is really out there, confirmation that your theories are correct. You're like a half-assed version of Scully-"

"Ouch." Mulder's eyes twinkled. "Thanks. And your point would be what; that I display the need for proof but none of the method? Alex, are you trying to tell me that I lack discipline?"

Dryly, Alex replied, "You lack faith."

"Oh? Give me one example. Go on," he urged, the glint in his eye taking on a more angry sparkle.

Alex frowned. "Okay. The Loch Ness Monster."

Mulder's eyebrows shot up. He didn't know whether to accept that this was surprising coming from Alex, that it turned him on, or that he found it embarrassing that he was both excited and surprised. "You've got my attention."

Alex glanced up at him with a sardonic expression. "Right." He looked at Mulder, leaving the impression that Mulder's eyes distracted him or he was about to try to formulate some deep thought. Probably both, Mulder thought with a slight thrill in his lower belly. It was too gratifying to know that Alex felt so strongly about him. 

"Let's hypothesize for a moment. You receive a report that someone has managed to get a detailed screen capture of the thing in Loch Ness that all the locals and their uncles claim to have seen glimpses of throughout the years. You want to believe it's the real deal but already people are saying that the WebCams are fallible and that... Well, you know the rest. It's just a hoax. A pretty picture lacking just enough determinability to get you hooked and everyone else up in arms trying to refute it."

Mulder's mouth twisted in a half-smile, half-grimace. "Yeah. I can see that happening." He couldn't begin to admit just how much he already wished this hypothetical scenario were occurring for real.

Alex regarded him patiently. "You already want to go, don't you? Jesus Christ." He shook his head and flicked his gaze at the window again. "Mulder, I don't need to go. I have absolutely no desire to go. And NOT because I don't believe. I have no doubt that there is some anomalous creature, most probably a prehistoric beast of some kind, swimming around in that lake. It doesn't bother me and I don't bother it. Tell me WHY it is that you now have the burning desire to fly to Scotland and investigate this thing. We already know what it is. We don't need to try to find it. It's a fucking plesiosaur, Mulder... Why can't we just leave it alone?"

Mulder licked his lips. Damn. He heaved a sigh. "Because it isn't enough to have faith."

Now Alex's eyebrows climbed upwards. "Then it's not true faith, or you wouldn't need to question it. I accept it, and that's good enough for me."

Mulder was shaking his head. "Even Scully, with her seeming contradiction of scientific method and Christian beliefs, has seen the Ivory Coast ship. She saw it with her own eyes, touched it. Spending all those years working on the X-Files with me HAS given her some open-mindedness towards strange phenomena. But even she would agree that unless we have the thing there, in front of us, with documented proof of its existence, that we can't know for sure exactly what it is!"

Alex smirked at him. "Sure, Fox. So tell me why it is that with a kiss and a gun on you that night in your apartment all those years ago you'll accept it as a concrete truth that extra-terrestrials exist...And accept it from ME, no less - your mortal enemy at the time?"

Mulder reached up a finger and tapped the side of his head. "Intuition. And right now, mine is telling me that the relics are the proof of both scientific and religious belief systems having an equal standing, a marriage of opposites. The relics bring both together in a convergent balance."

"I have no problem with that either. What I do have a problem with is your predilection for running off half-cocked, unprepared, without back up and with little regard for your own well-being. You don't need to go anywhere or do anything. That the ship has vanished without a trace into the depths of the ocean where's it has been sitting for the last four billion years. You know it, and I know it. It isn't going to help us if you're running around batting at ancient wasps' nests again. Let the artifacts find their own way around - they've already proven that they do. And stop looking so innocent - I know you, Mulder. You're already planning how to track down more of them." Alex pinned him with a glare. "Scully IS a saint, because she put up with your behavior for so long. Anyone else would have left."

Mulder's eyes narrowed as he returned the gaze. "You wouldn't."

One dark brow lifted. "You think not?"

Mulder's mouth slowly spread in a smile. "Yeah. Because you love me. You wouldn't desert me, any more than she did. Come on, Alex. Where's your sense of adventure?"

Alex closed his eyes and sighed through his nose. "Do you have any idea of just how irritating you are?"

Mulder chewed on his lower lip, thoughtfully. "I can be even more irritating." He managed to silently pull off his right boot under the table and lifted his leg beneath the table, encountering Alex's thigh, and then began inching forward. He was rewarded with Alex shooting him a surprised look of exasperation and dismay, and was then treated to the equally satisfying sight of Alex twisting slightly in his seat. Alex was looking around them, probably in the hopes that no one else had noticed just how interesting their conversation had become.

With a grin, Mulder murmured, "How am I doing? Is this more irritating than you thought me capable of?"

But with his sock-covered foot pressing and toeing between Alex's legs, and Alex's knees parting to give him better access, he hadn't counted on Alex's reaction. Alex visibly swallowed as Mulder's toes gently encountered his swelling hardness packed in the denim of his jeans. His eyes widened as he stared at Mulder, their discussion abruptly dropped. Mulder was taken aback at the sheer lust in Alex' face. The man looked like a dark animal, flared and alert, aroused to the point of pouncing. Mulder was suddenly aware that he was teasing a panther.

Indeed, the sudden growl that Alex emitted, while shifting in his seat, made him nearly pull his foot back. Alex's eyes glittered as he stared back at Mulder. "Prick-tease."

The accusation was fair, actually, considering their previous clinch. Mulder's mind whirled abruptly. It had only been a few hours since he'd finally caught up with him. Alex frowned at him, quizzically, noting his change of expression.

Mulder was brought back to himself and the current moment with a rush, realizing that his foot was still pressed against Alex's erection between his legs. He drew a breath, wondering how he could resolve this desperately urgent desire to fuck Alex over the table that separated them. His own cock was at half-mast; it twitched and lengthened even more. Warmth collected in his lower belly and he swallowed at the curious, open look in Alex's eyes. To his surprise, Alex dropped his gaze to the table before them and a red blush colored his cheeks. Alex licked his lips, obviously feeling off-balance.

Mulder withdrew his foot and attempted to slide it back into his boot. "Should we be thinking of pursuing more of the relics, or getting back to your hotel room?" He leaned down to tie his laces. "Or both?"

Alex said, "You're lucky we're in a public place, Mulder."

Mulder straightened and noted Alex's continued interest, the flushed face and dilated pupils. "Or unlucky, from another perspective."

Alex sighed and stood up, dropping extra coins on the table. "Let's get out of here."

As they made their way back towards the hotel along the sidewalk, Mulder said, "We could go and collect the first artifact. I have it safe, in Martha's Vineyard."

A little shadow crossed Alex's face at the mention of Mulder's father's house, however. "How the hell do you propose we find the others, when there have been no signs whatsoever that they've resurfaced anywhere? Seems to me that the artifact merely helped you resolve your own issues about me, and seeing as I'm alive, helped lead you to me."

Mulder shook his head briefly, thinking. "No, it's more than that. I can feel it. I don't know how. Trust me on this one. I'm right. We should go get it and let it lead us to the others."

But when they went to the reception desk in the hotel, the concierge approached them and said, "A FedEx courier is here, waiting for you. A package arrived here, addressed to an F. Mulder, at Mr. Kruschev's room number?" He glanced between Krycek and Mulder, who exchanged a glance of their own.

Mulder stepped forward. "I'm Mulder." The concierge pointed out the waiting courier in the lobby. Mulder went up to the man who said, "You're F. Mulder? Can you sign here, please?" 

"Thanks," he said, absently, noting that it was the same package he'd sent to the Vineyard, the one containing the artifact.

He looked up at Alex. "This is...odd. Let's go upstairs."

They went up in the elevator, accompanied by a couple of elderly women who kept batting their eyes at the two of them and nudging each other and whispering. Mulder glanced back at Alex who was smirking. Some little demon seized Mulder and as the elevator chimed, stopping at their floor, he turned to Alex and grabbed him by the arm, leaning over to kiss him on the mouth with a resounding smacking sound. "Come on, darling," Mulder said. "This is our stop." 

Alex blinked and then shook his head slightly, following him out of the elevator and down the hallway. Mulder glanced back and saw the two women staring after them with wide eyes and open mouths. He chuckled to himself.

Alex opened the door and let Mulder in, then came in after him and shut and locked the door behind them. Mulder turned and found Alex abruptly seizing him, both arms going around him as Alex kissed him fiercely, demandingly, ravaging his mouth and moving to work on his lower lip. 

Mulder couldn't help a groan as Alex's tongue slid between his lips again and again to slide against his own. He could feel the delirium building in him as he gradually became lost in this kiss, feeling his own passion rising, Krycek's leg pressing in between his legs, against him, feeling his cock hardening against Krycek's thigh...

Alex stepped back suddenly, releasing him, leaving Mulder swaying slightly as his brain worked to catch up. Alex grinned at him. "Sorry, DARLING. Did I get you going?" He let his gaze drop to Mulder's jeans and then travel back up again, his grin not diminishing. "Oh, dear. So sorry to leave you wanting."

Mulder stood stupidly, feeling foolish at having fallen prey to exactly what he'd just subjected Alex to, barely a few moments before. "Um," he said. Then looked down at the package he still held in his hand. Right. He tore it open. There it was, in all its ambiguous majesty, with the alien symbols taunting them in the daylight. Mulder sighed and fished out his cell-phone.

After some enquiries, Mulder discovered that by some bizarre chance, the post office had grown confused. One of their employees had accidentally returned the artifact to Mulder at his Alexandria address by Federal Express but then en route, FedEx's computers had freakishly sent the package to the Clarion Airport Hotel in Minneapolis, there to await a signature.

Mulder put his phone away and regarded Alex who was laying back against the headboard with his legs crossed before him at the ankles, his boots on the bed. "How the hell did the artifact know we'd both be here? At this room number, no less?"

Krycek's arms were folded across his chest and he gave a little shrug. "Who knows? They seem to have a life of their own, though."

Mulder shook his head and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Well, it's here. We've got it again, for better or for worse. Maybe we should just go home; wait for the others to arrive." He looked up at Alex.

Alex didn't meet his eyes.

"What do you think?"

Alex cleared his throat. "I'm not going back with you. Are you kidding?" At Mulder's wounded and accusatory glance, he gave Mulder a disparaging look. "Come on, d'you think I've lost all sense of self-preservation? Imagine what would happen if Skinner or Scully or someone else were to come by and find me there, in YOUR apartment? They'd shoot first and ask questions later."

Mulder sighed. "Okay, Martha's Vineyard, then."

Alex shook his head. "I'm not stepping foot in that house again. Sorry."

"My mother's house, in Greenwich -"

"Are you nuts? That place is still under surveillance, as a known hot-spot. Until it's sold and off the market... Mulder, there are some people who still regard both your parents' places as convenient meeting sites. They're watched accordingly. Don't tell me you didn't know that."

"So, where WILL you go with me?" Mulder exclaimed. "Do you have a better idea?"

"Why can't we just stay right here?" Alex sounded matter-of-fact but Mulder could see him closing up again. He could practically see the shutters coming down, the walls coming back up.

"Okay, okay. The first artifact found its way here; we'll wait for the others. For a while."

"You're tired," Alex observed.

Mulder looked back at him and sighed through his nose. "Yeah. And so are you. It's been a while since I had a decent amount of sleep. It hasn't been easy trying to catch up with you."

"Hasn't been easy running from you."

"We could have saved ourselves the hassle, I think. YOU could have let me catch up sooner."

Alex smiled. "Yeah? You think? How was I to know that you didn't want to kill me OR fuck me but just sit around playing footsie and scandalizing little old ladies in hotels? Not to mention your predilection for forced sex fantasies involving handcuffs and unloaded weapons."

"I did NOT force you to have sex with me," Mulder countered, a little embarrassed.

"Tell me about it. I think you've managed to lead me on about three times now. I'm starting to wonder if I'm going to have to force YOU." Alex stopped with deliberation, and threw Mulder another knowing glance, one that was hot enough to stop Mulder in his tracks and make him wonder if he'd ducked, would the paint have been scorched on the wall behind him. "Or is that what you're waiting for, Fox? Go on, get out the cuffs again. And this time, put them on yourself. I promise I won't leave you hanging. Much. Although, I do wonder what kinds of sounds you'd make if you were begging me to let you come."

Alex's voice had grown husky, sending telltale shivers over Mulder's skin as he pondered Alex's suggestion. He licked his lips.

Alex stopped, his eyes widening as he realized Mulder was taking him seriously.

Mulder found himself grinning. He couldn't help it. "Do you want me to fuck you, Alex?"

"Is that a trick question?" Alex countered. But Mulder could see that Alex was noticing the shift from banter and flirting to something a lot more intense, a nearly palpable charge in the air between them. 

Mulder felt his own erection gaining impetus again; it hadn't really fully dissipated from before and the thought of kissing Alex again was very appealing. The realization that they WERE going to end up having sex in here, and probably sooner rather than later, was enough to make his cock leap in his jeans and his pulse quicken. 

Alex moistened his lips and suggested, "Mulder, why don't join me, over here?"

Mulder's cell-phone rang. They both sighed in unison. Alex chuckled quietly as Mulder answered it. "Mulder." He shot a glance at Alex. "Hey, hi, Scully. Uh, sorry. Dana. How're things?... No, I'm fine. Just taking a break. Yeah... Of course... Yeah... Really?...Jesus... You're kidding...No... Yeah...Okay... Right. Well, can you hold onto it for me? I'll come get it when I get back...I'm not sure, a few days... Yeah...Okay...Thanks... Bye."

He put the phone away and said, "Scully has a very interesting package for me. She said it came addressed to me at her house, and it was open. She had a look just out of curiosity, thinking it was something FBI-related and, what do you know, it's one of the artifacts."

Alex considered him. "I'd say it's telling us we should go back."

"Yeah."

And then Alex smiled at him. "...'A few days', huh?"

Mulder felt heat flood into his face. "Well, I thought, why go back immediately, you know?"

"No, I don't. What, were you thinking we could hang out up here, having wild sex and acting out all of the fantasies we've had about each other the years, before going home?" Alex was grinning at him, enjoying his discomfiture.

"Something like that. Why not?" Mulder stood his ground, even though he could feel his knees weakening.

Jesus. This thing between them - it was like wildfire - it destroyed his capacity for rational thought. All he could think about was what it would feel like to be up close and personal with Alex, their naked bodies entwined and rubbing against each other, skin on skin...

"Where were we?" he asked.

Alex laughed. "You were going to join me here on the bed." And then he yawned.

"Yeah, yeah, I was. That's right. Okay." Mulder started taking off his shirt. He unzipped his jeans and began to peel them off. He encountered his own boots in the process and bent down to undo the laces.

Alex was staring at him. "What are you doing?"

"Joining you. On the bed." He pulled off his jeans and boots and then his socks. His cock was stiffly poking against his boxers, prominently. Alex's eyes kept shifting. In fact, it looked like he could barely tear his eyes from the sight, trying to keep his gaze fixed on Mulder's face. "Actually, in the bed," Mulder added, moving to the bed and lifting back the covers to slide between them.

Alex bit his lip and muttered, "I don't know about you, but I'm clean. I'm safe. Haven't got laid since I was revived. What about you?" He turned to look down at Mulder, his eyes inadvertently roving down to take in Mulder's raised left knee, which lifted the covers up over his hard cock.

"I'm a safe bet, Alex. Have you got any lube?"

Alex took a breath, the sound hissing slightly. "Mulder, I-"

"Just get the lube, Alex. And turn off the light. And shut the curtains."

Alex did as he was told. And then stripped quickly, efficiently, nearly fumbling in his haste to get his clothing off.

Getting into the bed beside Mulder, he lay on his back and said in a low voice, "Been wanting this, been thinking about it for so long - I don't know."

"What? Don't tell me you're having second thoughts?"

"No, I just- I don't-" He stopped. "Mulder, I don't want you to regret this. If it isn't what you want, if you aren't ready-"

Mulder lifted up and turned to take Alex in both hands, by his shoulders, holding him down against the bed under him and silencing him very effectively with a deep, searing, bone-melting kiss. He pulled back and whispered, "I do. I want it. I want you. I think I always have. I've just - been hiding from it, is all. From you. >From how much I wanted you. I was always so angry, I took it out on you. It was such an ego-boost, such a comfort, to finally have the illusion that someone looked up to me, actually believed in what I was doing. When you betrayed me, you took that away. And I was left with the uncomfortable feeling of wanting it back, wanting you back. I didn't want to want you. That's why I used to hit you. But I don't...I won't hit you again, Alex. I promise."

Alex's eyes had grown suspiciously bright during his little speech and he blinked a few times. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. For everything, Mulder. God." He bit his lips and brought his arms up to hold Mulder against him. They ended up turning on their sides, Alex clutching him tightly.

"I know. I know you are. It's alright, Alex," Mulder murmured, knowing that quite possibly, this was the only thing that would ever heal the rift between them.

And then he felt wetness dripping down his skin, on his shoulder, as Alex pressed his face against him. "Just don't hate me anymore. Please - I can't stand it when you hate me." Alex's voice was hoarse, rough - it brought a sharp sting to the backs of Mulder's eyelids in sympathy.

"I don't. I don't hate you." Mulder kissed Alex's head, ran his hands through the short hair, his hand trailing to touch his ear, and come to rest against the side of his neck, then down to his back. God, to enjoy the luxury of allowing himself the pleasure...of clasping Alex against him, in his arms, to feel the solid warmth and smooth beauty of him. To go ahead and relish the liquid desire that gathered in his belly and his legs, his groin, to feel - not alone. No longer alone.

Alex whispered something into his chest and Mulder asked, "What? What did you say?"

Alex lifted his head and sniffled. "It wasn't a lie. It wasn't an act. I really did look up to you. I did believe in you - I didn't have to act. But by then, I was in too deep and really, I could see the forces that were arrayed against you. They were already playing you, Mulder, pulling your strings. It was a losing battle. At least, I thought it was."

Mulder sighed. "In the end, I guess you were right."

"I wish to God I hadn't been."

"I know. But maybe this is what the artifacts, your magic squares, were trying to tell me, to tell us... That THIS is a better ending. That regardless of what may happen in the end, it's better that we resolved this together. You know?"

"Yeah." Alex didn't say anything more though, merely pressed in tighter against him, holding Mulder almost as if he expected this to be the one and only time he'd be offered such an opportunity.

Mulder winced as the pressure grew so great now in his balls, his cock almost painfully hard, he said, "Alex, if I don't come soon..."

Alex brought his leg up, resting his knee against Mulder's hip, bringing their cocks into contact. "You're big, Mulder. Use your fingers first." He handed Mulder the tube of lube.

Mulder hummed appreciatively in his throat, reaching down to undo it and squeeze an amount on his fingers. The anticipation was too much. "I hope I last long enough," he muttered.

Alex grabbed his hand by the wrist, bringing it down between them, guiding him to the crack of his ass. Mulder slid his fingers along it, marveling at the peach-skin texture of the smoothness there, upwards to the furred velvet of his balls - and then slid the tip of his slick finger into the tight little hole, loving the way Alex gasped. 

"Jesus, Alex," he breathed, moving his fingertip in and out, sliding a little farther and deeper inside with each stroke. The inside of Alex was silky soft and clutching at his finger, and hot, so hot - oh God, the thought of sliding his COCK into this was just... He encountered a little nub inside Alex and pressed against it gently, stroking it. 

Yep, he'd got it right, for Alex arched against him, a choked moan emitting from Alex's throat as it if were drawn out of him, by the action of Mulder's fingers in Alex's ass. "Mulder, God, fuck -don't - I'll-" 

Mulder slid his finger out and looked back up into Alex's face.

"Mulder, if you're gonna do it, do it now." Alex's voice was dripping with urgency and lust, his eyes grown quite feverish and his mouth open, breathing hard.

Hell, who was HE to deny either of them at this point? Mulder arose, getting up to lean on one elbow and then finally sitting up all the way to move between Alex's legs, grabbing blindly for the lube and pushing Alex's knees up and apart, ignoring his exclamation. Settling between Alex's thighs, he quickly slicked lube all over his hard, weeping prick. The thought of where it was about to go was almost enough to bring him off right there. He was vibrating with the tension running like an electric current through him. 

Bringing his cock to slide along Alex's crack now, up and down, he couldn't help a snigger as Alex writhed against him, trying to make him push into his eager ass. "Fox, fuck me. Now." Alex's voice was low, grating, almost a warning - a threat.

Grinning down at him, Mulder obediently slid the head of his cock into that tight and oh so hot passage.. "Ohhhh, yes. I'm gonna fuck you, Alex. Yeah. And bareback, too. God." He gulped, trying to control himself, afraid of sliding forcefully into Alex all the way.

After all, he could sympathize - he'd be pretty scared at this point himself, that he'd be fucked too fast, too hard, before he was ready.

But Alex seemed slightly enraged at this and said, petulantly, almost angrily, desperately, "So help me, Mulder, if you don't fuck me properly, right now, I'll do it myself."

Mulder slid forward a few more inches into him, shutting Alex up, and made sure his cock wasn't about to come out by accident, then leaned forward, grabbing Alex by the wrists and slamming his arms up, by the side of his head. "I'd like to see you try." He held Alex's arms down with more weight and then slid forward into him harder, feeling Alex's anus give and the tight ring relax around him. Alex couldn't reply; he was too busy trying to get air back into his lungs after Mulder's spearing movement into him.

"You want it, Alex? I'll give it to you, what you've been waiting for, what you've wanted all these years. Fuck, oh fuck, oh God," and he drew back slightly, only to let himself sink forward again, going deeper yet, eliciting the most delicious whimpers and groans from the man under him. 

Alex was panting open-mouthed, straining desperately against him. Mulder began to thrust in earnest now, faster, harder, deeper. "Please, t-touch me-" Alex's right hand tried to struggle free from Mulder's grip. He let go of both of Alex's wrists and moved to position himself up, to go ahead and let himself grind his cock into Alex's satiny hot ass over and over, plunging into him so hard that he felt his balls quiver each time. Alex looped one arm up to hold Mulder's waist and brought his legs up to press his heels against Mulder's buttocks. Alex reached down one hand to grab his own cock and began a frantic motion.

He was fucking Alex... Fucking Alex Krycek... To finally have him, to have this ass that had taunted him beneath those jeans all this time, to finally take this ass that had sauntered saucily around him, Alex's nearly unconscious sexuality seducing him every single damned time they'd met... To finally be able to let go and take what he wanted... "Alex!" His cry was nearly a sob.

Mulder knew it wouldn't be long now, he wanted to come inside of Alex, to enjoy the fact that he was no longer denied this sensation, this pleasure - and then there was Alex's hoarse shout ringing in his ears as he felt the spattering of Alex's hot cream against him, the convulsive rippling of Alex's orgasm as his ass clenched around Mulder's cock with every deep thrust.

Mulder's own climax followed. He felt it like an electric shock, a hot fiery wave that crashed over him with a screaming pleasure, white-hot and uncontrollable as he jerked over and over into Alex. His face contorted and he heard his own yell and groans as if from far away, his hearing fading momentarily with the pure pulsing throb of his orgasm.

Gradually, he realized he was only twitching occasionally inside of Alex still, and his arms were growing tired, nearly shaking from the strain. He moaned and let himself down to rest on his elbows, then laying against Alex's chest, letting his already-softening cock slide out of him as Alex's legs slid down to join his.

Too mutually exhausted to move, they stayed like that for a while. But eventually, Mulder realized he had to move, else he'd grow too heavy for Alex. He began to lift himself up but Alex wrapped his arms around him. "Don't. Just- just stay here."

"Don't want to crush you," Mulder began, but Alex tightened his hold.

"You're not. Don't move."

Mulder relaxed, letting himself drift back to that contented, sated place; for once no longer struggling, no longer fighting - not Alex, not himself, not his problems. For once, everything seemed...okay.

No dreams, just drift, in peaceful slumber.

* * * * *

When he opened his eyes, the room was bright. The curtains were open. Alex was laying beside him, watching him sleep. They were still in bed, between the covers. Alex looked away.

Mulder wondered if it were Alex who'd ended up regretting this. He felt great, himself. "What time is it?" he asked, in a voice rough from screaming and sleep.

Alex didn't look back at him. "It's nearly noon."

"Erg." Mulder threw an arm up to cover his eyes and exhaled loudly. "Need more, I think. Sleep, I mean."

There was no reply. He frowned, bringing his arm down to look over at Alex again. From what he could tell, Alex looked pensive, serious, a permanent frown gracing his otherwise lovely face.

"You're beautiful, Alex, did you know that?" Mulder said.

Alex didn't answer.

Jesus. Whatever the fuck was wrong NOW? Mulder sat up, stretched and yawned. "We already had breakfast. I don't know - shall we order in? Get lunch? Go out? What do you want to do?"

Alex said, "We should go back. Pick up the other artifact from Scully's place."

Mulder shot him a look. "What the fuck is your problem? What's the matter?"

Alex got up out of bed. He was wearing shorts and a t-shirt again. He pulled on his jeans and went to go stand by the window. 

"Fine. Don't speak to me." Mulder sighed in exasperation and got up. "I need a shower," he declared, and went into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him firmly.

Hm. Maybe Alex had a point, maybe he was worrying about what this really meant, about what it represented and whether or not they actually had anything that might go beyond a quick bout of fucking and a few hours in each other's arms. He finished the shower though with the renewed hope that in dissipating the tension between them with sex, maybe they didn't have to be enemies anymore. 

Maybe they could be friends. Or maybe that was expecting too much, both from Alex AND from himself. Maybe they could relax the strife and tense moments and just let be, let live and let go. 

But he was so tired of being lonely. Here was at least one other person, maybe the only other person in the world who could truly understand what they'd been through to make it to this present moment. He toweled himself dry, wondering if maybe it hadn't been all that Alex had expected. 

Maybe they were deluding themselves into thinking that sex would heal their conflict. But he had forgiven Alex - had in fact forgiven him before, when he'd thought his past nemesis was dead and haunting him from beyond the grave. The relief that had come over him at finding Alex still alive and then finally tracking him down here in this lonely hotel on the edge of the airport on the edge of international departures... It had been overwhelming. He didn't want to let Alex go. This realization brought him up short. He emerged, the towel around his waist, half-expecting to find Alex gone.

Nope, still moping by the window. He began to get dressed, pulling on his boxers and his jeans. Then his socks. "Alex, what? Was it not what you'd hoped for? Did the dream vanish with the cold harsh reality of day? Or what?"

Alex regarded him, watched him putting on his shirt and retrieving his boots from the floor. "So what happens now? Do we move in together, pick out wallpaper? Argue over what videos to rent? Take turns doing the laundry?"

Mulder stopped and turned to face him again. "If that's a marriage proposal, I'll have to think about it. Give me some time. Look, level with me. What IS it?"

Alex looked away from him, out the window. "I think I was a fool, wanting to believe that we could resolve our differences this way, that you'd be able to forgive me if you fucked me."

"Don't be so melodramatic. This doesn't have to be a problem." Mulder went to stand beside him, looking out the window at the clouds, bright and high, white and reflecting the sun. He reached out and put his arm around Alex's shoulders. "Maybe you're right. Maybe we should go back. But I thought you'd want to stay here at least a little while, work things out. I know I do."

Alex didn't look at him. Mulder glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, still facing the window. The pure pain and look of hopelessness, the fatalism on Alex's face... Jesus. He frowned, considering. "I've thought about it and I'll take you up on that proposal of yours."

Alex frowned. "What proposal?"

"Well, maybe my ears deceived me but you did say something about marriage, didn't you?"

Alex tensed under his arm. "You said it, I didn't."

"Okay. We can take it one day at a time, if you'd prefer. But I didn't hunt you down all this way just to have you go off and ditch me in a fit of pique. And besides, the alien relics brought us together - you really think they'll let you go? Don't fight it. We both know that you don't really want to."

Alex pulled away from Mulder's arm and turned, leaning back against the windowsill, glaring at him, his arms folded defensively across his chest. 

Mulder looked down. Alex was still barefoot. He had lovely feet, actually. Nice toes. He wondered if Alex's feet were ticklish, if he'd squirm if he sucked on those toes...

"So, why don't you tell me how long I have, before it all comes home to roost for you, Mulder? How long before you remember that I'm a rat-bastard, bottom-dwelling scumbag son of a bitch? The one who shot your father? The bastard who was controlling Skinner, and helped them abduct your partner? That guy? Not the one who kissed you but... You know, the one who you watched die in front of you, a year ago?" Alex's voice lacked any kind of force though; he sounded like he was repeating a litany of expected curses.

"Is THAT what this is about? Alex, I told you: I don't hate you, I forgive you. I meant it. What, did you think I was just saying it to get you to let me fuck you, is that it?"

Alex stared back at him, seriously. "This thing between us... What do you want it to be?"

"If this is some twisted idea of yours to offer me a way out, I'm finding it kind of insulting. What, do you think I do this all the time, sleeping with the enemy and having revenge on them by breaking their hearts after getting them let down their guard? You should know better; I've rarely had the time to get laid with anyone, let alone cultivate dangerous liaisons with ex-Syndicate players and alien-consorting adversaries."

Alex swallowed, his face darkened and he looked away.

Mulder realized that was precisely what Alex feared. They'd done the deed, and now Mulder could walk away having broken through Alex's defenses, taking advantage of the fact that he knew that Alex... was in love with him. 

He let out a breath and stepped up to take Alex by the arms, slowly, holding his gaze. Okay. This WAS scary, admittedly. But if Alex could do it, so could he. "I love you. I want you; I don't want to lose you after finally finding you. Please, Alex. Stay. Please. Stay with me."

Alex looked back at him, into his eyes, obviously looking for any sign of evasion or intimidation. "Are you saying that now because you feel obliged to, or because you want me to- to live with you?"

"I'll live with you, or you can live with me, as long as we're living together," Mulder stated, slowly. "Just get this into your thick head: I want you. And no, I'm not saying this because I feel obliged to in any way. I'm in love with you. And I'll tell you something else," he accented this by gripping Alex harder and giving him a little shake, "if you run, there isn't anywhere you can hide. The artifacts helped us to get to the point of realizing that we WANT to be together. Whatever residual issues and concerns about our past we share, we can work them out as we go along. But let's stop pretending, okay?"

"What would you have said if I'd sought you out before now, come to you and suggested all this?" Alex countered. "You'd have kicked my ass instead of fucking it."

Mulder stopped, realizing that, yes, indeed, it would have been hard to swallow if Alex Krycek had come to him and suggested - this. He made a face. "Alright, I'll concede that. You're right. It wouldn't have been as easy. I probably would have taken longer to accept it, myself. But don't tell me you don't want it, because you... I know that you do."

Alex smiled a little wistfully and finally reaching up and stepping closer to pull Mulder to him. Hugging him, Alex said, "Are you kidding? I think I want you more now than I ever have before. It wasn't exactly love at first sight, you know. Lust, maybe. It took a while to grow. Took a while before I realized what had happened. But now... Jesus, Mulder."

Mulder just held him tighter, and closed his eyes, enjoying the intimacy, the warmth and the feeling of being held back, having his longing for this returned, requited... the sensation of feeling Alex's voice reverberating through both of them. "Took ME damned near forever. I don't think I actually realized it until I found you, caught up with you here," he replied.

And he glanced up, over Alex's shoulder, his eyes landed on the artifact where it sat on the table there by the window, beside them. And wondered what else it could do, if it could bring two men who'd been enemies for so long, with such deep-seated reasons for conflict between them, to resolve their issues and choose love instead.

Finis

  
Archived: September 15, 2001 


End file.
